


Something New

by Asidian



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Blow Jobs, Chastity Device, Dorks in Love, Edging, Hand Jobs, Kink Exploration, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Pre-Canon, Sex Toys, Sex Toys Under Clothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-03
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2018-10-27 10:26:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10807248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asidian/pseuds/Asidian
Summary: "Specs has the spare," Noct breathes, and Prompto, eyes wide with terror, vaults off him and to the other corner of the couch. He yanks the throw blanket off the couch's back and onto his lap, not an instant too soon.Because the door clicks open and then there's Ignis, toeing off his shoes and stepping into the entryway. "Good evening," he says, pleasant and mild."Hey," Noct answers, pretending at indifference."Hi," squeaks Prompto, face a remarkable shade of red.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For the lovely anon on the kink meme who wanted:
> 
> Pre-game/preferably post high-school, Prompto hints that he'd like to try edging, and Noctis is more than happy to lend a hand, as it were. 
> 
> +They get comfortable in Noct's big bed and Noct wears nice soft pyjamas  
> ++Sweet smooches  
> +++Prompto does come at least once by the end of the night and is a blissed-out mess.

The first time, it's an accident.

They're sprawled out on the couch in Noct's apartment at nine on a weeknight, some dumb movie on the TV, a half-eaten bowl of popcorn on the coffee table. School's well and truly done, their senior year ten months behind them, and with it any semblance of semi-reasonable bedtimes. Prompto works tomorrow, sure, but he's got an afternoon shift, so they have all the time in the world.

The movie's half-done, and Noct's reasonably sure that neither of them could give a summary of the plot if their lives depended on it.

They're too busy with each other – hands running through one another's hair, and long, slow kisses, and fingers that trace and explore through the thin barrier of their clothes. At some point, Noct tugs Prompto closer, and he shuffles forward, on his knees, to straddle Noct's thighs.

The new angle makes everything better. Prompto's hips cant forward, grinding down – all restless energy, the way he gets when he's ready to stop playing around. Noct goes for the zipper on his jeans.

Prompto's hard already, and when Noct wraps his fingers around the length of him, he gets a shudder and a soft huff of breath for his efforts. It's been a long build-up; the tip, Noct notes with appreciation, is already damp.

He doesn't waste any time – just tightens his hold and strikes up a rhythm. It's quick, and loose, and Prompto's hips rock into the touch. 

He wants to go for the fly on his own pants, wants to get started on himself, too, but it's awkward with Prompto pressed up so tight against him.

And anyway, Prompto isn't going to last long. Noct knows all the signs by now: the way his breath hitches and his back arches; the way he whispers Noct's name, a breath of air told like a secret to the skin of Noct's neck; the way his toes curl in his socks when he's about five seconds from coming.

That's exactly when they hear the key in the door.

Noct freezes. With picture-perfect clarity, he remembers that Ignis has the spare key, and that it's Wednesday, and that Wednesdays mean Ignis swings by to make sure Noct hasn't entombed himself in a mound of trash.

"Specs has the spare," Noct breathes, and Prompto, eyes wide with terror, vaults off him and to the other corner of the couch. He yanks the throw blanket off the couch's back and onto his lap, not an instant too soon.

Because the door clicks open and then there's Ignis, toeing off his shoes and stepping into the entryway. "Good evening," he says, pleasant and mild.

"Hey," Noct answers, pretending at indifference.

"Hi," squeaks Prompto, face a remarkable shade of red.

Ignis pauses there just inside the doorway. He lifts one eyebrow and shifts his gaze, cool and appraising, between the two of them. "Three for dinner, then?"

"Sounds like a plan," says Noct, and Prompto says, "I was just on my way out," only they say it at the same time, so that the words overlap. There's a beat of silence, and they exchange a guilty glance.

"Well," says Ignis, "I'll leave you two to sort that out, shall I?"

Then he disappears into the kitchen, and Prompto frantically reaches under the blanket to stuff himself into his jeans and pull the zipper back up.

Ignis stays for three full hours. He makes dinner, and straightens up a little, and drops off a packet of reports for Noct to look over.

When the door closes behind him, they wait until maybe the count of ten.

Then Noct's saying, "Oh gods, you should've seen your _face_ ," and Prompto's hitting him with one of the couch pillows, as hard as he can muster.

Noctis goes down, ungraceful – snakes out a hand to drag Prompto with him, and they end up a pile of limbs on the floor between the couch and the coffee table. Noct's half tempted to grab a pillow of his own and return the assault, only he lands with Prompto on top of him, and Noct can hear the way the breath catches in his throat.

So instead of instigating a pillow fight for the ages, he reaches up and settles his hands on Prompto's waist – pulls him down, a slow circular grind.

Prompto shudders and twitches. He ducks his head and bites at his lip. He says, "Can we –?" and Noct says, "Yeah," and then they're kissing again, not as slow, not as lazy.

Noct can feel the bulge in Prompto's jeans pressed up against his thigh. He reaches for the zipper – maneuvers the length of him over the elastic edge of the underwear. The tip is more than damp, this time. Prompto's squirming above him like he can't stay still.

It doesn't take much. Noct closes a loose fist around Prompto's cock and gets started on a rhythm. Almost from the start, it's all gasped breaths and full-body shivers. Maybe a minute in, those socked toes are starting to curl again.

Prompto doesn't quite suppress a low groan when he comes – bites down into the juncture between Noct's neck and shoulder while his thighs shake.

When he's done, limp and pliant, he pulls back just far enough for Noct to see the dazed, dopey grin on his face. It's a good look on him.

Noct barely has the time to appreciate _how_ good before Prompto says, "Your turn." Then he's sliding down between Noct's thighs and undoing the buttons there, and everything else slips away but the incredible feel of Prompto's tongue.

 

* * *

 

The second time, it's very much not an accident.

It's a lazy sunny Saturday, and they're both been up already, showered, made coffee, and then wandered back to bed in their pajamas. Neither of them has anywhere to be: the best kind of day. Technically, morning came and went a few hours ago, and now the light streaming in through Noct's curtains is a warm golden glow, dust motes in the path of the sunbeam drifting in slow, bright spirals.

They've wasted half the morning playing the new phone version of Valiant Warriors – made it through a dungeon and a half before flopping back out on the bed again. Noct's thinking about going back to sleep. He's thinking that a nap would be a luxuriously lazy cap to a decidedly lazy day, when Prompto leans over to kiss him and changes his mind.

It starts out languid and soft, a closed-mouth brush of lips against his jaw. Then Prompto kisses the lobe of his ear, and the curve of his collar bone, visible above the black silk collar of his button-up pajamas.

When he reaches for the waist of Noct's pajama bottoms, eases them down to nuzzle at his still-mostly-soft cock, Noct sighs and threads his fingers through Prompto's hair.

It really should be illegal, the things Prompto can do with his mouth. 

Every pull of his lips, every ripple of his tongue, makes Noct's breathing pick up a little more. Prompto levers himself up onto his elbows, to get a better angle – slips a hand down underneath himself, to palm his own erection through the ridiculous chocobo-print sleep shorts that he wears with unironic enjoyment.

Noct arches and sighs – lies back and lets Prompto do all the work. When his eyes slip closed, Prompto opens his mouth wider and swallows him further down. 

It stretches out into a long, sweet minute, and then to five, and then to fifteen. The only sounds are the slick, wet squelching of Prompto's mouth and the soft rasp of skin on skin, Prompto's hand on his own erection.

Abruptly, the second noise stops, and Prompto makes a _sound_ , a tantalizing vibration of a moan that Noct can actually feel. When he slits his eyes open again and looks down, Prompto's face is flushed, eyes dazed with pleasure. Both of his hands are knotted into the bedsheets, and his cock still hangs, hard and twitching, against his stomach.

"You okay?" says Noct.

And Prompto nods, a slight bob of his head, and sucks Noct down harder.

It's enough. He comes with a shaky breath and a slight press of hips, and Prompto works him through it, attentive lips and obliging tongue, until Noct flops back against the pillows.

It's a few seconds before he can rouse himself again – can tug Prompto closer, all fond affection and say, "C'mere."

Prompto does – stretches himself out along Noct's side – and Noct's hand slides downward, until it finds the thick heat of Prompto's cock and begins to stroke.

Prompto hisses, shivers, bites at his lip. The tells are all there already: the damp tip, the hitched breathing, the way he arches into it, like he can't quite control his own body. He's really getting into it, hips pressing forward in time with the rhythm, when suddenly, his hand scrambles at Noct's, stilling the motion.

Prompto shudders; his cock actually twitches in Noct's palm.

Noct goes abruptly motionless, worry a dark cloud at the forefront of his mind. "Prom?"

And Prompto says, "No, it's good, I'm good. Just –"

Noct watches him – the cheeks flushed with pleasure, or embarrassment, or some combination of the two. He doesn't think he's seen Prompto so worked up since the early days, when they were still fooling around, all fumbling hands and clumsy kisses, trying to figure out what went where. "Just?"

"I'm not ready to be done yet," Prompto mumbles, and he won't meet Noct's eyes.

The words click into place like a key turning in a lock.

Abruptly, he remembers in vivid detail: how close Prompto was the other night, teetering on a knife's edge before they were interrupted. How hard he came at the end of it, when he finally finished, and how quickly.

Noct's mouth is suddenly dry. He's not ready for another round yet, but hell if his cock doesn't try to stir back to interested life at just the thought of it.

Noct says, "How long are we talking, here?"

He wouldn't have thought it possible, but Prompto's face somehow manages to get even redder. Even the tips of his ears are turning crimson.

"I dunno," Prompto manages. "Let's just go with it?"

Noct's eyes trail over Prompto's face, take in the blush and the pale swoop of his eyelashes and the avoidant gaze. They pass over shoulders dusted with freckles and a chest heaving with arousal, coming at last to land on Prompto's cock. It's flushed, harder than Noct thinks he's ever seen it. The precome is actually visible on the tip, a small glisten of moisture.

Noct licks at his lips. "Yeah," he manages. "Yeah, I can do that."

He shifts onto his side – gets comfortable there in the blankets and tells Prompto, "Hey, lie on your back."

It's really damn hot how fast he listens, practically throwing himself over backwards. Noct doesn't think it's on purpose, either, the way he's spreading his legs like that, inadvertently eager.

Prompto bucks up the second Noct sets a hand on him, like even the thought of this has him wound tighter than a spring. And when Noct takes a steady grip and starts to move, Prompto rocks up to greet him on every stroke, biting his lip, audibly panting.

About thirty seconds in, Prompto lets out a little whine that lights a fire somewhere in Noct's abdomen. About a minute in, his back arches up off the bed, and he says, "Noct, wait, don't –"

Noct lets go.

The result is prettier than any classical sculpture Noct's ever seen. Prompto lies there, frozen, mouth open, hips still working against the air. He bites at his lip and rides through it – shudders hard, breathing unsteady.

"You okay?" says Noct.

"Oh, gods," says Prompto. " _Again_."

So Noct does it again. Then he does it a third time, and a fourth. He does it until Prompto's clawing the sheets to keep his own hands off himself – until he can't even take a full ten strokes, and Noct switches to tracing the length of him with just the tips of two fingers.

By round six, Noct's hard again, and Prompto looks like he's ready to burst. His cock's red and dripping, the precome a slick trail down the length of him. 

Noct stretches out, casual and content. He flexes his hand, and he says, "Think I'll take a break for a while."

Then he takes hold of his own cock, deliberately slow. He palms himself, and then he starts to stroke, grip tight, pace not quite enough. It's exactly the speed that drives Prompto wild, when he's on the receiving end.

Noctis peers up at Prompto's face – outright smirks when he sees that Prompto's absolutely transfixed by the sight.

There's not a hand on him, but he's practically squirming in the sheets. So Noct says, "I said I wanted to take a break. Who said you could?"

Prompto's eyes find Noct's face. His pupils are blown, and he licks his lips, helplessly. "Huh?" he says, kind of dazed.

"Quit slacking," Noct says, and repositions Prompto's hand so that he's holding his own cock.

Prompto actually shivers at the first brush of contact. He says, "Oh, gods," like someone's set a mountain taller than Ravatogh in front of him and told him to get to the peak. He trails his fingers from the base of his cock to the tip, glacially slow, and by the way he can't stay still, it looks like even that's borderline too much.

So Noct says, almost casually, "If you're still hanging on by the time I get done, I thought we could try something else." He figures a bit of incentive won't hurt.

Sure enough, he can see the change in Prompto's face – the way his eyes flicker to where Noct lies stretched out beside him. "What kind of something?"

The very tips of Prompto's fingers are rubbing at a single spot on the underside of his cock, just below the head, and it's damn distracting. Noct fixates on the point while he works himself, taking in every tiny twitch that runs through Prompto's body.

Noct says, "I dunno. Thought you might wanna try a round or two with my tongue, see how that goes."

Prompto takes his hand off his cock so fast you'd think it was a hot stove. His fingers clench in the sheets, and he bites his lip. His cock twitches against his stomach, and a new drop of precome joins the growing puddle. He's so hard it's got to be aching by now.

The sight feels like someone's injected liquid heat straight into Noct's veins. It feels like the onset of a fire spell, that heady moment before the world erupts into flames, when everything is too close, and too bright, like the magic's thrumming there beneath his skin, waiting to escape.

He's never even considered the way Prompto would look like this, open-mouthed and red-faced, about two seconds from coming all over himself and fighting tooth and nail to keep it from happening. He's never considered how damn good Prompto would look, clinging to his self-control with the edge of his fingernails, squirming and desperate.

Noct tightens the grip on his own cock and groans, appreciative. He says, "Thought I said no slacking, though."

Prompto makes a noise that might be trying to be a laugh. It's a weird little hiccup of a sound, accompanied by a crooked smile. "You? Telling someone off for being lazy?"

But he reaches out again, tentatively, to rub at the head of his cock. He's only making tiny circles, this time – punctuating them by pulling back every five seconds or so. When he does, the precome makes a thin, silvery line from his fingertips to the head of his cock.

Noct came maybe an hour and a half ago, but hell if he isn't ready to go again, just at the sight.

Prompto takes his hands off all the way. He squeezes his eyes shut and tips his head back, and breathes hard through his nose. His hips are rocking up into the air, like he can't quite make himself keep them still.

That's it. That's all it takes. Noct tightens the hold of his fist and really goes all out, for the remaining couple of seconds it takes to get off. He keeps his eyes open while he does – tries to burn that image of Prompto into his mind while the waves of pleasure crash over him.

When he comes down, lightheaded and still panting, he finds that Prompto's eyes are on him, watching, entranced by the sight.

He says, "We still gonna –?"

And Noct says, "Yeah, here, I got you," and he rolls over onto his stomach, propping himself up on his hands.

He doesn't give Prompto any warning, and maybe that's kind of mean, considering how wound up he is, but by gods, is it worth it to hear him groan like he's dying the second Noct's tongue touches his cock. 

Noct doesn't take him all the way in – he's got to be on a hair trigger by now, after so long spent teetering so close to the edge – but he does lave his tongue up along the underside of Prompto's cock. The response is immediate: Prompto's hips come up off the bed, chasing the wet heat, and Noct presses them back down again with one hand and carries on.

He licks at Prompto with purpose, with intent, never giving him more than teasing flicks of his tongue. Underneath him, Prompto shakes; his fingers flex open and closed, like he knows nothing he can hold onto will help him get through this.

He says, "Noct," and his voice is bright with need, and Noct pulls off, sitting back and enjoying the view while Prompto's toes curl.

They start again, and then again after _that_. Noct definitely isn't playing fair by now, but by the look on Prompto's face, dazed and euphoric, he really doesn't mind. Noct mouths at the head and presses kisses to the base. He laps at the very tip, still oozing precome, until Prompto can't stay still. Then he draws away, and Prompto makes the sexiest sound he's ever heard, high and breathy and desperate.

"Noct," he says. "Okay, that's – that's like twenty kinds of incredible, but uh."

Noct quirks a knowing smile his way. "Ready to call it quits?"

Prompto nods so fast he looks like he'll give himself whiplash, and Noct huffs a quiet laugh, fond and amused. "You got it," he says.

He shifts to get a better angle, and when he lowers his mouth to Prompto's cock, he doesn't tease. He just parts his lips and takes it inside, hot and heavy and salty-musk against his tongue. He can feel every little twitch and shiver from Prompto, can feel the way his thighs are tighter than the string on a badly-tuned violin.

Noct bobs his head, and Prompto makes a wavering, appreciative sound. So he hollows out his cheeks and applies gentle suction, and he bobs his head again.

Prompto outright wails when he comes, scrabbling at Noct's shoulders like the ground's opened up under his feet and he's trying to find somewhere to hold on. His hips are trying to jerk up, but Noct holds them in place – works him through it, setting the pace, until Prompto subsides, panting and spent, in the rumpled blankets.

When he's done, Noct crawls back up beside him. He slides an arm around Prompto's waist, pleased and kind of smug. He says, "How was that?" like the dazed, starry-eyed expression on Prompto's face isn't answer enough.

"Wow," says Prompto, when he can speak again. "Okay, wow. Points for above and beyond, buddy."

"Just wait until next time," Noct tells him, and watches Prompto's face to see the reaction. It's a flicker of surprise, and then something warmer, more affectionate. Buried under that, there's naked want.

"Hope that's a promise," says Prompto. "But maybe not a promise for right now, y'know? Give me five to take a breather."

He's going to need a lot more than five. His eyelids are growing heavy already, and small wonder: outside, the golden afternoon light has shifted to the grey and violet of evening.

Noct reaches absently for the blankets kicked aside in their earlier enthusiasm – pulls them up and over the both of them. "Whenever you want," he says, and means it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [FFXV Kink Week](https://ffxv-kink-week.tumblr.com/) Day 2: Orgasm Control.
> 
> ...is anyone surprised? Ngl, I used this entire week as an excuse to write Prompto suffering.  >.>

The catalog goes to Prompto's place.

It's safer that way, Noct figures. Prom's parents are never home; no one's going to care what shows up at his door.

Noct, on the other hand, can't afford to have his name on that kind of mail. After he got done half-dying of embarrassment from the media coverage, Ignis would make sure he was the rest of the way dead.

So to save them both the trouble – and to save Noct the untimely demise – they have the thing shipped to Prompto.

Then the schedule from hell hits, and Noct forgets all about it.

He's got training with Gladio, and reports from Ignis to go over. There's dinner with his dad one night, and a state dinner another, and he's supposed to give the Altissian ambassador a tour of the Citadel. He's kind of exhausted, but worse than that – it's only been four days, and he hasn't seen Prompto in what feels like forever. 

He misses the bright chatter and brighter eyes. He misses the easy companionship. He misses the video games at 3 am, and the cooking experiments that inevitably fail, and the stupid suction cup dart gun Prompto got last month and still hasn't gotten tired of.

He misses _Prompto_.

And, well – he misses the sex, too.

The nights he's still awake enough, he falls into bed at the end of the day and rubs one out before he drifts off to sleep. Some nights, though, he just doesn't have the energy.

When the text comes, it's completely out of the blue: "it's heeeeeeeeeeere," followed by an endless stream of winking faces and eggplants.

Noct almost taps back, "what is?" but then he remembers, and suddenly he misses the sex even more.

He sends "anything good?" by way of reply, instead.

It takes all of a minute before Prompto gets back to him: "anything NOT good, you mean. and the answer is no."

It takes Noct a second to untangle the double negative – and he finds himself grinning down at his phone, in the middle of a briefing on the political situation in Galadh, caught up in imagining until Ignis clears his throat pointedly.

Noct texts back. "specs is on my back, gotta go. see you tmrw??"

All he gets back by way of reply is a string of kissy faces and hearts.

 

* * *

 

Tomorrow ends up being tomorrow night, because that's the earliest Noct can get away.

He's in his own apartment barely three minutes before the knock comes on the door, some jaunty little rhythm he doesn't recognize. "Who is it?" calls Noct through the door, just to be sure.

And Prompto's voice calls back: "Dude, c'mon, lemme in."

He opens the door to Prompto: alive with nervous energy, practically bouncing on his feet. He's got on a t-shirt and worn grey jeans, and he's wearing the backpack he used to bring to school with him, back when they were still students. Noct's barely got the door closed behind them before Prompto's in his arms, wrapping arms around him and leaning in for a kiss.

It's a _great_ kiss, long and hot and insistent. Prompto's hands wander down his back; one slips up his shirt, stroking along bare skin, and Noct shivers, wondering if they're even going to make it past the doorway.

But no sooner has he thought it than Prompto's pulling back with a narrow grin and a gleam in his eyes. "Okay," he says, and slides the backpack off his shoulder to let it fall on the ground. "Check _this_ out."

The catalog is huge. Like, almost phonebook-sized.

Noct gives it a quick flip-through – discovers glossy full-color pages and a lovingly written description for each item. Prompto's dragging him by the wrist toward the living room before Noct can even think to protest.

Prompto throws himself down on the couch, practically vibrating with excitement while he waits for Noct to sit beside him. His whole face is lit up, like a kid before winter solstice, and he puts the catalog between them, so that it rests half on Noct's lap, and half on Prompto's.

When Noct glances down to look at the cover, he can see how hard Prompto is already, the bulge in his jeans painfully evident.

"Man," says Noct, and reaches over, casually, to grope him through the denim. "Eager much?"

Prompto bites down on his lip and squirms a little, there on the couch. "Four days is a long time, dude."

Noct's brain accepts that without thinking about it too hard at first – then hauls back, and does a mental double-take. "What," he says, "You didn't...?"

He gets his answer in the way Prompto won't quite look up at him – in the way Prompto's whole face slowly goes a bright tomato red.

"Seemed like fun," is all Prompto says, and that – that's got to be the hottest thing Noct's ever heard.

He's suddenly, intimately away of how long four days is. He's suddenly, intimately aware of the fact that some nights, while he was jerking himself off under the covers, Prompto was lying awake in bed, the heat inside him slowly ramping up.

"I mean," says Noct, thoughts suddenly filled with about twenty thousand incredible mental pictures. "I mean, not at _all_?"

"Some," says Prompto. It should be physically impossible for him to blush any harder, but somehow he's managing. Even his ears are red. "I just, y'know. I didn't finish." Prompto rubs at his nose, almost shy. "I wanted to wait for you."

Waiting is suddenly the last thing on Noct's mind. 

"Oh, Astrals," he breathes, almost reverent, and leans in for another kiss.

This one goes on longer than the one by the door. It's hard and a little desperate, and halfway through, Noct reaches down to palm Prompto's erection through his jeans. 

He jerks like he's been electrocuted – presses forward into it with a whimper. Noct obliges him, rubbing firm and steady, until Prompto can barely sit still.

Then, abruptly, Prompto's scrabbling at his wrist to slow him down. "Not," he pants out, when Noct breaks the kiss. "Not yet."

Noct's eyes trail downward to the jeans – to the place where a small wet spot has formed on the denim. He licks at his lips. "You sure?"

"I promised myself," says Prompto, "that it'd be after we finished with the catalog. Not till then."

Noct glances down at the massive tome there on their laps. He pictures Prompto sprawled on his bed, hand on his cock, turning the pages while he makes a mental wish list.

"Guess we better get going," says Noct, and opens up to the first page.

It starts out mild.

The first section is porn: pages and pages of DVDs, with a brief plot synopsis and a few still frames in vibrant color.

Next comes the lube: water based, oil based, sensitizing, flavored, and at least seven different brands.

After that, the dildos start, and then the vibrators, and then the plugs. By the time they get to the remote control stuff, Prompto is outright squirming, and Noct helps him along by reaching over, casually, to trace the wet spot with the very tip of his finger.

They go through prostate massagers and cock rings, vibrating and regular. They go through pages upon pages of strokers with various interior textures. They go through lingerie, and leather, and all kinds of ingenious restraints for all kinds of different places on the body.

By the time they finish, Prompto's had to stop him twice. By the time they finish, the wet spot's so big it looks like Prompto's actually come, but Noct knows damn well he hasn't yet.

"Well?" says Noct, when the last page is behind them. "What were you favorites?"

So they start back over, at the beginning.

They dog-ear the pages they want, and Prompto spreads his legs as wide as they'll go, doing his best to sit still.

"This one for sure," says Noct. Two pages later, Prompto says, "Oh em gee. _Goals_. Look at the size of this thing."

They end up with a little bit of everything. 

By the time the order form's filled out, and the payment's arranged, Prompto's kind of a wreck. His jeans are gonna have to go in the wash before he goes home, because there's so much precome soaking through the denim, it's frankly obscene.

"Well," says Noct, when the catalog's tucked away again, safely inside Prompto's backpack. "Guess that's everything."

"Yeah," says Prompto. "Almost everything."

Noct leans in close, not even trying to stop the sly smile that slips over his lips. He presses a kiss to Prompto's jaw line, and then to his cheek, and then, slow and lingering, to his lips. He waits until he's into it, practically climbing into Noct's lap, before he draws back and says, "Thought you wanted to wait till after we were done with the catalog."

Prompto stares at him for a long moment, blank and uncomprehending. He says, "We looked through the whole thing."

"Well, yeah," says Noct. "But our stuff hasn't come in yet."

The expression that dawns over Prompto's face is everything he ever hoped it would be: surprise, and disbelief, and pure, undisguised _want_.

"You're trying to kill me," Prompto manages, sounding caught between horror and delight.

"Nah," says Noct. "Just make the wait more interesting."

Prompto shifts. He shifts again. He says, "I kind of hate you," but he's looking at Noct like Noct's a Messenger from the Astrals, come down to Eos to answer his prayers.

 

* * *

 

If there's one thing about ordering Insomnian-made products, it's that everything ships from within the city. Mail service is damn fast; even accounting for time to process the order, they'll probably have the package before three days are out.

Three days is still a hell of a long time to wait, though.

Noct wakes up hard as a rock on day one. He takes a long, hot shower, and he lets his hands wander. He braces his arm up against the cool tile of the bathroom wall, and he leans his head on his arm, and he jerks himself to completion picturing Prompto halfway across the city, waking up just as hard and struggling not to do anything about it.

He bites his lip when he comes – slumps boneless and satisfied, listening to his own slowing heartbeat. Then he towels himself dry, pulls on his clothes, and goes to check his phone.

He has two texts from Prompto already.

"dude, i'm dying here," says the first one.

"trying to keep my hands off is making it worse :(" says the second.

"so don't," Noct sends back. 

He doesn't get an answer right away, so he looks over his schedule for the day: a luncheon, and an afternoon meeting, and a diplomatic briefing with Ignis at 6. When he checks his phone again, he has a new message from Prompto: "that's not helping either," and about twenty different crying emojis, one after the next.

Noct hesitates – bites at his lip. Then he taps in: "go a couple rounds for me," and a winky face.

The reply is immediate: "how many?"

Noct sucks a sharp breath in. He can picture the scene: Prompto, still rumpled from sleep, stretched out on his bed. He's been going at it for a couple of minutes already now – is probably borderline desperate, the blankets rumpled beneath him.

There's something so appealing about controlling how the next half-hour will go. There's something sexy as hell, about thinking that all he has to do is type a number, and Prompto will take himself apart.

"4," Noct replies. "and after that, stop. no more all day."

He can picture the look on Prompto's face, that too-appealing mix of desire and trepidation. He can picture the way Prompto's eyes will widen, just a little, when his phone gets him the message.

"omg dude," says the reply, an instant later. "that's just mean."

"you asked," Noct shoots back.

It takes a long time to get an answer. 

It takes so long that Noct starts to worry he's pushed too far.

But when Prompto's next text comes, close to a half-hour later, it says: "all done!"

It hasn't been long since Noct got himself off in the shower. He doesn't _have_ long, until he has to head out the door and face the first of his responsibilities.

But he stops off in the bathroom for a quickie with his own hand before he leaves, and he comes in about three minutes flat, thinking about how Prompto can't.

 

* * *

 

Noct gets a picture from Prompto early Wednesday evening.

It's a plain, unmarked brown box, the image captioned with the words, "i need you over here YESTERDAY."

Noct knows the feeling. He's been more wound up this week than he thinks he's ever been. He's gotten himself off more often than he has since high school, when his hormones were putting him through the ringer. He can't even imagine what it must be like for Prompto.

He's a little tied up right now – babysitting the Altissian ambassador at the grand opening of the Accordan cultural center – but hell if he isn't half-tempted to ditch out. 

Noct glances at the clock – at the schedule of events printed on crisp, gold-rimmed paper on the table in front of him. He can probably miss out on the closing ceremonies. That'll buy him a little time.

He texts back to Prompto: "see you at 9. get ready for me," and he spends the next three hours trying really hard to pay attention to the stuffy speakers in ties that serve as the evening's entertainment.

 

* * *

 

The key's taped to the inside of Prompto's mailbox, just where his text said it would be.

Noct uses it to let himself in, and he shuts and locks the door behind him. The lights are all out, except for two: there's the faint yellow glow of the ambient lighting above the stove, and there's another light away down the hall, casting a bright rectangle on the wall across from Prompto's open door.

"Prom?" says Noct, as he toes his shoes off to leave them in the entryway. "I'm here."

There's a beat before the answer comes, shaky and out of breath: "In my room!"

Noct takes his time, walking down the hall. Before he gets very far, he can her it: the faint squelch of lube. He's been fighting a boner since he got that damn text, and the sound already has him half-hard in his dress pants.

Whatever he was picturing, the reality's about a thousand times better.

The reality's Prompto splayed out on top of the blankets, three fingers buried in himself, working them in and out like he can't get enough. His cock's rock hard, a red so deep it's edging over into purple, and the tip's wet with precome. He's been at it for a while; Noct can tell, because the wet tip's smeared onto his abdomen, where it's leaking onto his stomach, and there's a slick little puddle as testament to his desperation.

Prompto slits his eyes open to peer up at Noct in the doorway – outright whines, and thrusts in a bit harder. "Took you long enough."

"What," says Noct, "starting to get impatient?"

Prompto's hips cant up. "It's been seven days, dude."

"Yeah?" says Noct, feigning disinterest.

"I've been getting ready since you sent me that text," says Prompto.

And hell if _that_ doesn't send a bolt of want straight up Noct's spine. He'd figured Prom would get started maybe an hour before 9, but – gods, that's almost four hours.

 In Noct's pants, his cock goes the rest of the way hard, thinking of Prompto lying on his bed, working himself up and backing off, until he's half out of his mind.

Astrals, he looks good like this. His cheeks are a dusky pink with exertion, and the flush has spread all the way down to his chest. His thighs are open as wide as they'll go, and he's pushing back into his own hand like he'll die without the touch.

"Guess you're probably ready to get started, then," says Noct. He spots the box sitting on the nightstand by Prompto's bed – circles around, not taking his eyes off Prompto.

Prompto's head tips sideways to follow him, so Noct gets a good view of the way he bites down on his lip. His eyes look glazed; his hand moves restlessly between his legs. "Noct," he says, and that single word is so packed with want that Noct's hands shake a little, as he struggles to get the box open.

The tape fights him, because of course it does. He fumbles with it – tries to pull a piece free – ends up with a strip no wider than a chopstick while the rest holds the thing stubbornly closed. Noct curses – holds a hand out, letting a curved knife from the Armiger fall into his outstretched hand.

He can just picture the lecture he'll get from Gladio about caring for weapons, and how he absolutely isn't supposed to be getting packing tape on blades, but as he slices the package open, he really doesn't care.

The cardboard gives way before him, and Noct dismisses the blade in a glimmer of light, reaching out to pull the package open.

It looks like a godsdamned treasure chest, laid open in front of him like this. Noct sucks in a breath and lets it out slow – lifts out the item on top. It's a vibrator, ridged and purple. It's not the biggest thing they got, but it looks like it'll satisfy; there's a curve to it, and seven different settings.

"What do you think?" says Noct, sliding open the sleek black box that holds the toy. "Want to start with this one?"

Prompto actually whimpers – pulls his fingers out, like it's suddenly too much. There against his stomach, his cock gives a little twitch and pushes out a strand of precome. He's so hard he's got to be aching. _Noct_ is, and Noct came already this afternoon, and once this morning, fist around his cock, thinking of this moment.

"Oh my gods," says Prompto. "If you don't hurry –"

"I'm hurrying," says Noct. "I'm hurrying."

But he's not; he's opening up the booklet that gives instructions on how to use the toy. He skims over the warnings – no direct sunlight, clean before and after use. It's all basic stuff, standard common sense. It's all stuff he's expecting, until he gets to the section with charging instructions.

"Huh," says Noct. "Says here, you have to charge it fully before the first use. Could take up to three hours."

When he looks over, a smile playing at the corners of his lips, Prompto's eyes are huge, like he's just realized where this might be going.

He licks at his lips, and he says, "Seven _days_ , dude."

"Yeah," says Noct. "And just think. Waiting till midnight'll make it official." He slips the charging cord out of the box – inserts the cord into the vibrator, and plugs the other end into the wall. "Besides, we can probably come up with other things to do while you're waiting."

Prompto licks at his lips again. His eyes flicker downward, to the bulge that's visible through the front of Noct's dress pants.

Then he reaches out to close the space between them, closing his fingers around Noct's wrist, and pulls him toward the bed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 3: Desperate Arousal/Frustration
> 
> Hope you guys are still enjoying! :)
> 
> This chapter was inspired by [this amazing art](http://kacir18.tumblr.com/post/171911332758/asidian-and-stuck-in-ffxv-hell-both-suggested) by the very talented Kaciart.

"So," says Noct. "I was thinking."

Those words seem like either a great way to start a weekend or a terrible one. 

They've got the whole two days to themselves, for once, and they're getting started early. It's Friday night, but instead of hitting the town, here they are, sprawled out on Noct's couch, setting the tone for the down time that stretches out before them.

Noct's already got his hand down Prompto's pants. It's already _amazing_.

"Yeah?"  says Prompto, breathless.

He wants to say more, but honestly, he's kind of distracted right now. He can't quite get past the way Noct's palm is pressed up against the length of him – not really stroking, just kind of rocking, side to side. It's good. It's _really_ damn good, but it's not nearly enough to get him where he needs to be.

"When was the last time you got to come?" says Noct, idly, like he doesn't already know.

Prompto swallows hard. His hips are rolling up into the slick press of Noct's palm now. "Four days ago," he manages, with effort.

"Four days," says Noct, and twists his wrist in just the right way. Prompto gasps and jerks forward, and Noct presses him back down to the couch. "How would you feel," he says, "about working for it?"

Prompto doesn't even have to think about his answer.

"Yeah," he says, immediately, and then hisses a breath in through his teeth, when Noct's fingers do something especially toe-curling. "Yeah, I'm game."

Noct's smiling, that self-satisfied little smirk that always makes whatever he's doing about a billion times hotter.

"You don't even know what I want," says Noct.

Prompto bites down on his lip. He's rocking forward into Noct's hand now, shameless. "Haven't struck out yet."

"Humor me," says Noct. He leans forward, so that his chest touches Prompto, bare skin against bare skin. "I'm thinking, you'll do what I say," he whispers, right in Prompto's ear. "All weekend."

It's like someone just dumped lava on him. It's like Ramuh himself just came to the mortal realm and lit up Prompto's body with twenty thousand volts. His cock twitches – jerks, and drools out another burst of precome. He says, "Noct," in a warning kind of tone, and Noct takes his hand away, leaving Prompto to try not to drown in the wave that doesn't quite crest.

When he thinks he can speak again, he says, "Yeah. Yeah, let's –  _yeah_."

Noct leans in to nuzzle idly at the skin under Prompto's jaw. "I don't plan on making it easy," he says, and his hand slips back down into Prompto's open pants and begins to rub again, maddeningly slow.

"Oh  _gods_ ," says Prompto, and he can feel Noct's smile in return, pressed up there against the column of his throat.

 

* * *

 

By Sunday night, Prompto is a wreck.

It'd be easier, if Noct wasn't so devastatingly sexy, but he is. It's been a special kind of hell, to stand by at attention while Noct's jerking off, not allowed to touch – or to hold Noct's feet up while he's lounging on the couch playing video games – or to torture himself to the edge and back under Noct's supervision, eight times in a row, and not be allowed to finish.

Now, it seems, he's got bigger things in mind. Literally.

"Dude," says Prompto. He licks at his lips, and he stares down at the absolute monster of a vibrator there on the floor. "It's huge."

Noct lifts one shoulder and lets it fall. "You said you wanted a challenge."

He wants a challenge, yeah – but this. He's not sure he can take this. It looked appealingly wide when it was a picture on a page, but in person? In person, it's the kind of thing paid professionals go to town on in the porn he likes to watch.

It's massive, the ribbed surface a smooth ocean blue. The shape of it ripples and flexes, in a way that makes Prompto pretty sure it's going to sit right up against his prostate. There's a suction cup on the end, too – the kind you can stick onto any surface, to make your fun hands free.

Right now, that suction cup is holding it to the bedroom floor.

Everything about this is hotter than hell. Even looking at the thing has him hard as rock. Noct hasn't set a hand on him, and he thinks he's ready to explode in his pants.

"Okay," says Prompto, and licks his lips again. "Yeah. Let's give it a shot."

"Thought you'd say that," says Noct, and the smile that skirts across his lips is frankly wolfish. "Clothes off, Prom."

Prompto's hands peel off his t-shirt, and they're shaky on the buttons of his pants. He tosses the discarded clothes, heedless, into the far corner of the bedroom.

But to his surprise, Noct says, "Pick it up."

"Huh?" says Prompto.

"Go get your clothes," says Noct. "Pick them up, and fold them, and put them on the bed."

For a beat, Prompto stares at him. Since when has Noct cared about picking up after himself?

But there's a certain sparkle in Noct's eye that he thinks he likes – a kind of delight that brightens his face up, when he's giving orders like these. Nothing about those words should objectively be sexy, but somehow the idea of Noct telling him to do something pushes every single button Prompto never knew he had.

"Yeah," says Prompto. "Yeah, sure."

He turns toward the clothes, but Noct's hand on his shoulder stops him. "You can do better than that."

"Uh," says Prompto. "Right away?"

Noct's eyes seem deeper than the ocean – like they can cut straight through him and see every thought in his head. "Try, 'yes, Your Highness.'"

Prompto feels his face start to flush red – feels his cock give an interested twitch even as humiliation courses through him, hot and strong. "Dude," he says. "In _bed_?" 

He must be red as a strawberry. The combined forces of embarrassment and arousal might just be the end of him. 

For an instant, he can see it flicker across Noct's face: uncertainty, boyish and a little awkward. "Too much?"

Prompto licks at his lips. "It's just, you know. Kind of embarrassing. Your Highness."

The smile that blooms across Noct's face is a beautiful thing, slow and delighted, like he just won an all-expenses-paid trip to the best fishing spot on Eos. His eyes track Prompto as he folds the clothes and sets them carefully on the bed – as he returns to stand by Noct, completely bare, resisting the urge to cover himself. His erection gives away exactly how much he's into this; it throbs against his stomach, flushed red and leaking.

"Now," says Noct, "You think you can get yourself ready for this thing?"

Prompto eyes the vibrator again, the thick, hard lines of it. He licks at his lips. "What," he says, "you're not gonna help?"

Noct hands over the bottle of lube. "Nah," he says. "I'm gonna watch."

Prompto swallows. Every inch of his skin seems to prickle at the idea of Noct's eyes on him while he struggles to get ready for that monster. "Works for me," he manages, with effort.

He turns for the bed, out of habit, but Noct's voice stops him mid-step. "Not there."

Prompto pauses – glances toward him, questioning.

"Get down on your knees," says Noct, "and do it on the floor."

He's going to die. No way he'll make it through the night. He's never heard of someone dying from arousal before, but he's on the knife's edge already, and if Noct keeps saying stuff like that, he may actually melt into a puddle on the floor.

"Yeah," says Prompto, mouth suddenly dry, and moves to listen. "Sure." 

But Noct's words interrupt before he can take a step: "Forgetting something?"

"I mean," says Prompto. "I mean yes, Your Highness." His face is burning like crazy, and the slow, considering nod Noct gives him does nothing to help the way his cock throbs, desperate for a helping hand.

It's been six days by now, since the last time he came. Six days is a hell of a long time, considering Prompto used to jerk off every morning in the shower, just one more step in his daily routine. 

"Better," says Noct, and gives him the hint of a slanted smile. "Now get started."

Prompto nods, a quick jerk of the head. He lowers himself carefully to his knees, aware of how exposed the position makes him – aware of Noct's eyes on him, hot and hungry.

He snaps open the lube with fingers that are a whole lot steadier than he feels right now – pours a generous dollop into the palm of his left hand and uses it to slick two fingers. It's cool to the touch, smooth and slippery, and he gives it a minute to warm with his body heat before reaching back between his legs.

The first finger slides in easy enough, and Prompto squirms at the sensation. There's little enough resistance, thanks to the lube, but he takes a few seconds anyway, to open himself up. He's aware, intimately, of the fact that Noct's settled himself on the bed to watch. He shivers under the scrutiny, and he adds a second finger, trying to hurry it along.

Gods, he wants more than this.

The second finger adds a delicious stretch, and Prompto bites his lip against the sensation, rocking into it. He feels starved for contact, like if he doesn't get more, right now, he's going to lose his mind. Reaching back between his legs at this angle, his wrist is pressed up against his cock, just solid pressure, not enough to offer any relief. 

It's the worst kind of tease; Prompto kind of loves it.

Abruptly, he pulls out of himself, reaching for more lube. The sooner he gets three fingers in, or even four, the sooner he can get started on Noct's challenge.

But Noct stops him before he can. "Take your time."

Prompto hesitates – glances up to discover that he's watching, intent, through half-lidded eyes. 

"I want you squirming first," says Noct.

"Dude," says Prompto. "I already _am_."

Noct gives him a satisfied sort of smile and leans forward on the bed, so that he's close enough to whisper in Prompto's ear: "Every time you forget what to call me, that's one more time you don't get to come."

Prompto swallows. He's so hard it aches already, and they've barely gotten started. "Your Highness," he corrects himself.

"That's three already, by my count," says Noct, casually, and Prompto shivers.

Prompto slides his fingers back in – works them out to the first knuckle, and then eases them back. He scissors them a little, to get the extra stretch, because he knows damn well he's going to need it.

"That's hardly squirming," says Noct, almost disapproving.

"Gimme," Prompto pants. "Gimme a minute."

Noct gives him a minute. He gives him five, until Prompto's shivering with every gentle press in, and he is way, way past ready for a third finger. But when he goes to pull them out again, Noct says, "Not yet."

Prompto's eyes lift up toward his face, pleading.

"I want you," says Noct, "to do it the way I would."

This time, Prompto actually whines. He knows exactly what that means.

He shifts, awkward, and tries to be mindful not to leave his knees. It's not a good angle, but he thinks he can manage if he tries. It's hard to do this with his fingers, though. They aren't quite long enough to manage it comfortably, but if he's careful and searches it out, he thinks he can – there.

Prompto feels it instantly the second he grazes his prostate. He stiffens, and groans, and rocks back into it.

"Yeah," says Noct, voice thick and decidedly interested. "Just like that."

So Prompto keeps it up, every tiny rub a brilliant burst of pleasure. He keeps it up until he can barely stay still, every motion of his own wrist making him shiver and squirm. He bows his head, and he grits his teeth; he can feel it building inside him like a wall of water, a tsunami big enough to flood out a city.

"Noct," he says, breathless. "Noct, please."

"That's four," says Noct. "And five. You better start paying off your mistakes."

Prompto lifts his head again, eyes pleading – takes in the way Noct's legs are sprawled wide, palming himself idly through the pants. Just the sight is nearly enough to get him there, balanced on the teetering edge of orgasm. He takes his fingers out, hasty, afraid he'll go just a touch too far.

Then he waits, the muscles in his thighs tight and trembling.

"There," says Noct. "That's not so hard, right? Just four more to go."

By the second one, Prompto feels like he's coming apart at the seams. By the third, he swears he's not going to make it. His heart will give out, or his lungs. He can't possibly survive this.

By the fourth, actual tears of frustration are standing in his eyes. By the fifth, Prompto's sure that some kind of shape-shifting daemon from out beyond the wall has snuck into Insomnia to replace his boyfriend for the sole purpose of torturing him.

"Okay," says Noct, from his spot on the bed, when Prompto is finished. He's got his cock out – is stroking slow and indulgent. "Now three fingers."

Prompto practically scrambles to comply. This time, the hand that opens the lube is shaking, unsteady in his haste.

He reslicks his fingers and gets the third ready, too – presses them in with impatience borne of desperation. 

"How's that?" says Noct. His hand on his cock is speeding up, now. "Everything you wanted?"

It's not. Gods dammit, it's not enough. Prompto drags his fingers back out and then shoves them in again, harder than before. He shakes his head, earnest and intent.

When Noct sighs, he sounds almost disappointed. "How are you supposed to answer?"

Prompto freezes, eyes wide. "I mean, no, Your Highness."

"Too late," says Noct, merciless. "One more."

So Prompto works his fingers in, deep and searching. He crooks them, and he finds the spot again. He works himself up, and up, with no end in sight – has to pull back, trembling, just on the edge.

"I'm ready," says Prompto, almost tripping over the words. "C'mon, please – _let_ me."

"You sure?" says Noct. 

Prompto nods his head so fast he almost gives himself whiplash.

Noct pauses for a beat, and then another. Too late, Prompto realizes he's giving him a chance – stammers out a, "Yes, Your Highness," but he's too slow. Noct's already saying, "Go on, do another one."

Prompto does another one. When he's finished, chest heaving, cock a heavy heat between his legs, Noct finally says, "Okay. You can get started."

It feels like the best present he's ever gotten in his life. He goes for the vibrator, with trembling fingers – starts to work it free from the place the suction cup holds it steady on the floor.

"Keep it there," says Noct. "It's exactly where I want it."

Prompto eyes the vibrator. He bites at his lip, and he looks up at Noct.

It's going to be hard enough if he's lying out flat, easing it in. If he has to sit down on it, a careful inch at a time, it's going to be a hell of a lot harder.

Prompto gives the vibrator another long looking-over: the girth and curves of it, and those inviting ridges.

It looks so _good_. It looks like just the thing he needs to scratch the itch inside him.

So Prompto takes a steadying breath in. He spreads more lube into his palm and smooths it over the vibrator, slicking the length of it. Then he positions himself above the broad, blunt tip, and tells himself to relax, and slowly sinks down.

It's huge. 

If it looks big, it feels _impossible_. Even the tip inside him is a lot, wider than anything he's tried before.

"How is it?" says Noct. He's leaning down from the bed, chin resting on his palms, intent and focused. He's let go of his cock; it lays framed by the open v of his fly now, distracting in the very best way. Prompto wonders, distantly, if he let it go because he'd have come already if he didn't.

"Big," says Prompto, honestly. "Like. Really big."

"Too big?"

Prompto thinks about it. There's a stretch, and a definite burn, but it's a _good_ burn. He wants more of it.

"Think I got this," says Prompto.

He bites at his lip and he tenses his thighs, and he sinks down lower – and the vibrator creeps inside another slow inch.

For a minute, he can only sit there, head tipped forward, chin on his chest, and breathe. It takes him a minute to realize that Noct's reached out, carefully, to pet at his hair.

"Want me to help?"

Prompto bobs his head, and suddenly, Noct's fingers are there, curling around his cock. It's amazing. It's _electric_ , the first touch he's felt there in hours. He keens and bucks up into it – feels the vibrator start to slide out with the motion.

"Now down," Noct says, gently. His hand isn't moving – is just holding his erection, the promise of pleasure, if he works for it.

With effort, Prompto lowers himself onto the vibrator again, that first careful inch. Then he lifts his hips up into the waiting palm, relishing the sweet drag of skin on skin. When he presses down a second time, he goes a little farther – pushes a little harder, every time he bucks backward.

It's painfully slow. What he wants, more than anything, is to shove himself all the way down and rock back up into Noct's perfect fingers. He's barely getting any motion on his cock, and already his legs are starting to tremble from the effort of holding himself up.

Prompto bites at his lip. He works himself down, and up, and down again. Every new thrust fills him more, so that he's sure he's as full as he can possibly be, but on every down stroke, somehow, more crowds in. 

He can feel it, when the thing finally seats properly. He pushes down, and it slips farther than it has before – settles, achingly full, at exactly the right angle. 

He was right; the curve sits right against the prostate, direct blunt pressure that's so good it's overwhelming.

His eyes open wide; his mouth gapes in a soundless gasp. Suddenly, he can't get enough. His legs are trembling, but he works himself harder, and _harder_ , chasing that promise of bliss.

Noct lets him keep going for a maybe a minute – maybe two. Then he says, "Back on your knees, and sit still."

"Dude, come _on_ ," says Prompto – then winces as soon as it's out of his mouth, remembering what to call Noct a second too late.

"That's another one," Noct tells him, idly.

Noct unfolds himself from the edge of the bed, graceful like a cat, and walks forward a few careful steps. He threads his fingers into Prompto's hair, petting gently – then pulls back a little, to slip one hand into his pocket.

What he comes out with is a remote with a slider. It's ocean blue to match the vibrator currently buried deep inside him, and just the sight of it sends a surge of arousal washing through Prompto.

Noct's thumb presses up on the slider, and inside, the vibrator comes to trembling life. Seated back down on his knees like this, the vibration is directly against Prompto's prostate, too soft to do anything more than tease.

Prompto bites at his lip – begins to rock again, trying to resume his earlier rhythm. His legs are killing him, but if he has to stay still even a second longer, he's going to lose his mind.

But he's barely lifted up before Noct's hands are on his shoulders, urging him back down. "I said stay still," he says. "Now you owe me another one."

Prompto outright shudders at the promise. He's rock hard – outright dripping, now. From the looks of it, Noct's loving this, too. His cock's flushed and needy, about six inches from Prompto's face. 

Carefully, he lowers himself down again, so that he's achingly full, the barely-there vibrations sending shivers of pleasure up and down his spine. It's a special kind of hell, not to be able to move. He's never wanted anything more than he wants to grab his cock and just jerk off, hard and fast. He'd probably last all of about three seconds, in this state.

It's like Noct can read his mind, because no sooner has the idea occurred than he's saying, "Put your hands on your thighs, and keep them there."

Prompto listens – manages, just barely, to set them right by where he wants them and somehow not touch.

He licks at his lips and ducks his head – and when Noct cups his cheek gently with one hand, he leans into the touch.

A second later, Noct's shuffling a half-step nearer, so that his cock's right there in front of Prompto's mouth, and Prompto moves without coaxing to nuzzle against the length of it.

The sound of Noct's indrawn breath, sharp through his nose, is the best damn aphrodisiac in the world. It's kind of amazing, that the most attractive person he's ever laid eyes on is this wound up over _him_. There's something heady and a bit incredible about the way Noct gets on nights like these, like he wants it every bit as much as Prompto, even though he came his brains out three hours ago.

When Prompto licks at him, he shivers and runs his fingers into Prompto's hair, and that's all the encouragement he needs. He swallows Noct down, eased by way of practice. Usually, he'd get his hands in on the act, but he's mindful of racking up another punishment – leaves them pressed against his thighs, instead.

Prompto smooths his tongue against the underside on the out stroke. He suckles at the head when he withdraws almost all the way. He's just getting his rhythm when Noct ups the ante – clicks the remote another couple of notches higher.

All at once, Prompto goes still. The vibrations are so damn good, impossible to ignore. He feels like he's a creature entirely of need – like coming right this second is an imperative, an absolute necessity, carved into his bones.

He doesn't realize that he's stopped moving until Noct reminds him – the careful rub of fingers through his hair, to get him started again. 

It's hard to concentrate. It's hard to keep himself apart from the pleasure that's coiling its slow way through him, taking him apart piece by piece. He makes a soft sound, around Noct's cock – shudders, when Noct pushes the switch higher, and moans again.

This is it. This is the end. He's going to come all over himself, he's sure, and it's going to feel amazing.

He eyes squeeze shut; his toes curl. Despite the order to sit still, his back arches, trying to press him harder into the vibration.

And suddenly, everything stops.

It goes completely dead, right at the point of no return, and the climax that was hovering just out of reach is yanked from his hands.

Prompto whimpers, this time, a sound of pure frustration, and above him, Noct says, "Oh, gods, Prom," like it's the sexiest thing he's ever heard.

He's sucking Noct off for all he's worth, now – lavishing the cock in his mouth with everything he wishes he could have. 

A beat later, Noct flips the vibrator back on, and Prompto jerks, and grinds back into it – stills immediately, remembering that he's not supposed to be moving. 

Noct doesn't seem to've noticed. When Prompto peers up, he's got his eyes squeezed shut, head tipped down, face contorted in pleasure. He's _beautiful_ , and Prompto redoubles his efforts, swallowing him down sloppy and eager.

A second later, Noct's coming, actually shouting his release, and Prompto tongues him through it and then swallows everything down. By the time Noct pulls back, breathless and sated, Prompto can feel the edge creeping up on him again, pure distilled need.

He watches as Noct takes two unsteady steps back toward the bed and sits down, breathing hard. He watches as Noct fixes him with an intent look.

This is the last one. That's all of his mistakes accounted for. He can take one more, Prompto tells himself. After this, he gets to come.

But this time, the edge is so sweet it burns, and it takes everything he has, not to thrust back onto the vibrator, just to get that little bit more. It would be so, so easy.

He's so damn _close_.

But then Noct's thumbing the remote down to off again, and Prompto takes a minute to pull it together, just trying to breathe.

"That's all of them," says Noct, "By my count. You ready to finish up here?"

"Please," says Prompto, shakily. His breath is quick and desperate; his cock feels like a force of gravity, trying to drag his hands in to touch it. It's taking everything he has not to give in.

"Hmm," says Noct. "I guess we'll see."

But he turns the vibrator on, back up to halfway, and Prompto outright shudders in relief. He's still close – hasn't had time to come down from last time. He's – gods, he's right there. He only needs a little bit more.

"Oh, gods," Prompto gasps. "Oh, _gods_.""

All at once, the vibrator goes dead again.

Prompto's mouth falls open; his eyes go wide. The corners of his eyes are stinging, and he just gapes at Noct. 

"What do you say?" Noct prods.

Prompto's mouth is faster than his brain. " _Please_ , Noct," slips out before he can remember the game they're playing.

Another strand of precome drips its slow way from his cock, while his thoughts grind to a halt, caught between horrified and aroused that he's going to have to do this another time.

"Nope," says Noct.

Oh, gods. If he gets yanked back from the edge again, he doesn't think he can take it. The sheer want from the last round is still buzzing through him, a restless energy that won't let go. He's never wanted to move more than he does in this moment. The smallest hint of friction would be enough to get him off, he thinks, and it's taking every last shred of his self-control not to give in and take it.

"I can wait all day," says Noct.

Does that mean he has another chance?

Prompto takes a deep breath in, and he lets it out, shaky and long. He frames the request in his mind one way, and then another – tries the words on for size.

"P-please can I come, Your Highness?" he manages, at last.

Noct's eyes rake him over, top to bottom, drinking in the sight of him. "I dunno. Seems to me like you've got one last mess up to pay for."

Prompto swallows, hard. He lowers his gaze to the ground. He says, "Yes, Your Highness."

And that's the moment Noct turns the vibrator back on – not low, or halfway, but something way, way more intense than anything he's felt so far. The pressure on his prostate is overwhelming; the vibration feels like it's going to break him apart into tiny pieces, and scatter him all over the ground, and Prompto won't even care.

His fingernails dig into his thighs, hard, just for something to ground him – just for something to hold on to.

Prompto's back on the edge in instants, waiting for the inevitable moment the pleasure will be snatched away. But it only builds, and builds, and _builds_.

Orgasm blindsides him – crashes over him, hard and sudden. Prompto groans like he's dying, and squirms back against the vibrator, and digs his fingernails into his thighs so hard he draws blood.

It seems to go on forever, endless waves of pure euphoria, whiting out the edges of his vision while his balls empty themselves of six long days' worth of come.

He shivers and slumps forward – groans louder as the change in position and the vibration combine to make him oversensitive.

"Okay," Prompto croaks. "Okay, dude, like –"

The vibrator stops, and he gives a sigh of relief.

An instant later, Noct's beside him, stroking fingers through his hair. It feels good – soft, and comforting, and Prompto leans into it, practically purring.

"Hey," says Noct. "How about we get you cleaned up?"

Prompto nods. "Sounds good. You, uh. You mind lending a hand?"

Prompto's legs are outright shaking as he eases himself up and off the vibrator. He's wobbly as a newborn puppy as Noct helps him over to the bed, to collapse on top of the covers.

"Back in a sec," says Noct, and footsteps drift away down the hall, only to come back with a warm wash cloth. It wipes the sweat from Prompto's face, and his chest. It wipes the come from his abdomen. It cleans gently between his thighs, and when it's done, Noct says, "You good?"

Prompto gropes outward with a hand – takes a lazy hold of Noct shirt and pulls him in for a kiss. It's lingering and sweet, languid with exhaustion.

When they break it, Prompto says, "Yeah. I'm good."

He's better than good. He's warm and content, the wake of the pleasure leaving him sleepy and sated.

Careful hands maneuver him under the covers, instead of on top of them, and then Noct withdraws for a minute, leaving him to doze. When he comes back, Prompto's vaguely aware as the bed creaks, and Noct settles in beside him.

He's ditched his clothes; his skin is bare against Prompto's own, warm and soft. He leans in close, so that their foreheads are pressed together, and slips a careful arm around Prompto's side.

"Still good?" he asks again.

Prompto thinks he can hear that boyish uncertainty behind the words again, just for an instant, and he leans forward to kiss Noct and chase it away. "Dude," he says. "That was kind of incredible."

"Only kind of?" says Noct, and huffs a laugh. "I'm gonna have to try harder."

"What," says Prompto, and cracks open an eye to peer at him. "You got plans already?"

"Maybe," says Noct, and pulls him in closer.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 4: Biting
> 
> I hope you guys are still enjoying! I don't have anything lined up for days 5 or 6, but I'll see you again for days 7 and 8 with the final two chapters. :)

The day the cuffs come out, they've gone three rounds already.

The first time's slow and sweet, spread out on Prompto's bed. It's a lot like the first time they got together, honestly; it's all fumbling hands and searching kisses. They don't bother with anything fancy, only rub against each other, skin on skin, until the sweet friction's almost too much to bear. Only this time, when Noct's done, Prompto isn't. He's just lying there, cock still throbbing, ready for another go.

The second time's couple of hours later, sprawled out on the couch in the living room. They've got a bowl of microwave popcorn on the table in front of them, mostly forgotten now. The action movie on the screen's mostly forgotten, too. They'd been playing a game, ten strokes for every explosion, but that doesn't last long. Before an hour's up, Prompto's too close to an explosion of his own to keep going, so Noct just has him get down on the floor and put his mouth to work.

After that, Noct's got a meeting with some diplomat and a photo shoot for Who's Who magazine, so he catches a quick shower and gives Prompto a quick kiss. Then he leaves him alone to squirm in his own unsatisfied want for the rest of the afternoon.

But he's back by 6 to stay the night, and round three's right there in the entryway, all wandering hands and teasing tongues.

Prompto thinks they're done for the night.

He thinks Noct's just about worked it out of his system – is lowkey jealous, that he's gotten off three times today. Much as a part of him loves the slow burn of frustration that's settled in and started paying rent, his mind keeps wandering to the possibility of jerking himself off, nice and slow. Or even better: Noct doing it, with those pretty fingers and lots of lube.

Anyway, three times is a lot, even by Noct's standards. So Prompto thinks they're done for the night – but when it's time for bed and Noct opens up the bedside drawer, where they've been keeping their catalog order, he knows he's wrong.

The cuffs are padded things, soft leather connected with a strap of chain. Prompto's been dying to try them on since the day the package arrived.

Noct holds them up idly, letting one dangle. He says, "What do you think? Wanna give em a shot?"

He looks amazing, standing there in the black silk pajama bottoms that are all he wears to bed.

Suddenly, a whole day's worth of desire spikes through Prompto, hot and urgent, and his cock gives a little twitch between his legs. He trips over the words in his haste to get them out: "You know it, dude. Bring it on."

He's kind of expecting to get hooked up to the headboard. He's seen enough porn, and isn't that the standard pose? Chain threaded between the bars, so your arms are stretched out above you?

But Noct circles around behind him, instead – latches the cuffs police-style, behind his back.

"What," says Prompto, and licks at his lips. "Not gonna tie me down to anything?"

Noct fixes him with a lingering look. "Don't need to. Your hands aren't going anywhere."

The way he says it, low and intent, makes Prompto squirm a little. They've barely gotten started, and already he feels like he's on a hair trigger.

"So, uh," says Prompto. "You had something else in mind?"

"Maybe," says Noct. He steps out of the pajama pants and abandons them there on the floor. Nothing's underneath, only what seems like miles of smooth, pale skin. Noct settles himself up against the headboard, legs stretched out straight – pats his lap and peers at Prompto with a smirk that's so hot it ought to be illegal. "Come sit with me."

It's awkward to do. Noct's settled himself right in the middle of the bed, and Prompto doesn't have his hands free to crawl. He walks on his knees, wobbly and uncertain, aware of Noct's eyes on him the whole way.

When he reaches Noct, spread out bare and inviting, it takes him a minute to get one leg up and over, so that he's straddling the thighs. His balance isn't quite there, and he teeters, almost going down, but Noct reaches out a hand to press against his side, steadying him before he can topple.

"You good?" says Noct, when he's settled.

Prompto licks at his lips, and he wriggles his hips side to side. His sleep shorts, the only thing he's wearing, are already way too tight; they're tented in the front, the fabric stretched to show off the outline of his erection underneath.

"I can think of ways to be better," says Prompto, and wriggles his hips again, pointedly.

Noct lets out a shaky sigh of pleasure at the friction – lets his eyes fall closed, and seems to consider. "I guess you can get to work," he allows, at last.

Prompto takes the invitation as soon as he gets it. The words are barely out of Noct's mouth before he's leaning forward, pressing down and in so that his clothed cock is rubbing up against Noct's bare one. It's hard to hold the right position without his arms to support him, and Noct's not helping; he's just lying back against the pillows, eyes trained on Prompto's face.

Prompto feels himself flush under that watchful gaze – rocks forward, more insistently, and starts to get a rhythm going.

It's nice: all firm pressure and pleasant friction, a deliberate press and grind. Once upon a time, he probably wouldn't have been able to get off like this, but these days, he feels like he's always walking a tightrope. It would take him maybe five minutes, tops, if Noct let him.

They're going to be at it for a while, though, he thinks.

Noct's come three times already today, and he's only half hard. Prompto's going to have to work for this.

So he really gets started – rocks his hips from side to side, and rolls them forward, and draws little circles. By the time Noct's fully hard, Prompto's outright dripping. The precome has made a wet spot on the fabric of his sleep shorts.

He's close, already. He can feel it, just within reach; the pleasure is a low coil of heat in his abdomen, and his thighs are trembling. It would be so  _easy_  to slip over that edge.

He says, "Noct. Noct, I'm gonna –"

And Noct says, "Stop."

Prompto stills instantly, fighting to keep his hips from moving – fighting to keep from grinding down and dragging himself across that too-close finish line.

Noct gives him a couple of minutes to breathe; then he says, "Keep going."

Prompto keeps going. He works them both up with a rocking motion that quickly turns urgent. It doesn't take him long to lose the rhythm, and in no time at all, he's trembling again, clinging to the edge with willpower alone.

"Noct," he says, voice strained.

And Noct says, "Stop."

Prompto whimpers a little – bows his head, and tries to breathe. His break feels shorter this time – no more than a minute.

Then Noct says, "Keep going."

So Prompto starts again. He rubs up against Noct, feeling the way the cloth on his sleep shorts clings to the precome at the tip – feeling the way Noct presses up beneath him, hyper attuned to every little shift he makes. He wants to go faster, to throw himself into this, but his legs are trembling already, and his abs ache from keeping himself at just the right angle.

Still, he's close – he's  _so_  close. He leans his head down, shakily, to rest his forehead against Noct's shoulder. It takes some of the weigh off. It lets him get his hips moving the way he wants them to, short sharp thrusts that grind and catch, delicious friction that's got him  _almost there_.

"Noct," says Prompto, desperate now.

And Noct says, "Stop."

Prompto whines. He squeezes his eyes shut. Behind him, prevented from doing anything helpful by the soft leather of the cuffs, his fingers open and close on nothing.

Prompto bites down on the juncture between Noct's neck and shoulder, just to help him ride out the edge – just for something to hold onto.

And Noct  _yelps_  – scrabbles at his shoulders in an effort to push him up and away.

Prompto blinks down at him, startled. "What?" he says. "What is it?"

Noct's rubbing at the place at the base of his neck – a little red, from where Prompto's teeth dug in. "You wanna explain where this came from next time I give a press conference?"

Suddenly, Prompto can picture it: every tabloid in the city, taking bets on the prince's secret lover. His eyes dart to the spot on Noct's neck, heart pounding in his throat for all the wrong reasons. The red spot's already starting to fade, thank the gods. He doesn't think it'll leave a mark.

He just about trips over the words to get them out: "Sorry, dude. I didn't even think about it."

But is he ever thinking now: a whole line-up of worst-case scenarios. What if it bruises? What if it shows up in a news reel? What if they have to explain it to the _king_?

Some of his panic must show, because Noct says, "Hey," in a tone that's decidedly gentle. He cups a hand below Prompto's chin – lifts it until he's meeting Noct's eyes. "Quit worrying. It'll be fine."

Noct pauses a beat, almost hesitant. Then he adds: "I'd let you, if I could."

The admission's awkward and a little shy. Something in Prompto's chest warms and flips over at the words, a slow kind of swell.

Prompto can't help it – he leans in for a kiss. An instant later, both of Noct's hands bury themselves in his hair, pulling him closer. It's long, and sweet, and searching, and Prompto melts into it, letting most of his weight slump forward against Noct's body.

It drags on for maybe a minute: slow, careful touches. It drags on until Prompto's nerves settle down, washed out with hazy pleasure. It drags on until Noct's hands start to wander again, and Prompto remembers, abruptly, exactly how many times he hasn't gotten to come today.

"Uh," says Prompto, when they break apart. "You, uh. You wanna keep going?"

Noct stares up at him, eyes dark with want, hair rumpled and still damp from the shower. He licks at his lips, and he says, "What I want is to go another couple rounds. Then we'll give those cuffs a workout. How's that sound?"

It sounds  _amazing_.

Prompto bites down on his lip and exhales through his nose, and he says, "Sounds like a plan."

The words are barely out of his mouth before he's moving again, a slow roll of hips. He can feel Noct underneath him – is so very aware of the way Noct's cock presses against the fabric of his boxers, just below his ass.

It suddenly seems like the worst kind of torture, that he can't have it inside him. He suddenly feels  _empty_ , and it's damn near unbearable.

It takes him no time at all, till he's dangling from the edge again. "Noct," he gasps. 

And Noct says, "Stop."

He knows the word's coming, this time, but it doesn't make it any easier to listen. He whimpers, and breathes through the ache of arousal, and fights to keep still.

He gets barely a few breaths to relax, this time, before Noct says, "Keep going."

Prompto keeps going. He's already desperately close – only just holding on. The pressure on his cock feels amazing, as soon as he presses forward. He groans, and pants, and rocks his hips – once, twice, three times.

"Noct," he says, voice strangled.

And Noct says, "Stop."

Prompto stops, still breathing hard. Somehow, he manages to stay still while Noct runs steadying hands over his sides – while Noct slips an arm around his back and unlocks one of the cuffs. When Prompto thinks he can breathe again, Noct says, "C'mon, up you go."

He's a little wobbly, when Noct urges him higher on his knees and helps him clamber off. He lets himself be guided – lets Noct lie him down on the blankets, with his arms stretched out over his head.

He can hear the faint clink of metal on metal as Noct runs the empty cuff through the slats on the headboard and then gently reattaches it to Prompto's wrist.

Prompto swallows – tugs downward, experimentally, and finds that he can't move. He's completely at Noct's mercy. He couldn't get himself off like this, even if he wanted to, and the thought sends a wave of heat rolling over him, slow and suffocating.

Then Noct brings his hands to Prompto's hips, gently running the pads of his thumbs over sensitive skin, and Prompto outright groans.

"You ready?" says Noct.

"Oh my gods," says Prompto. "I was ready yesterday. I was ready like a hundred years ago." Noct's smiling at him, dragging the waistband of his sleep shorts slowly lower. "I was ready back when the Astrals had their  _war_ , dude, would you please  _hurry_?"

Noct outright laughs at that – pulls the boxers the rest of the way down and glances back up at Prompto's face, eyes full of heat.

"Guess that means I ought to get the lube?"

Searching fingers find Prompto's erection and curl around it, teasing; Prompto groans, and slams his head back into the pillow. His hips try to move of their own accord, but as soon as he begins to rock into the touch, Noct takes his hand away.

" _Yes_ ," says Prompto. "Gods,  _please_."

Noct laughs at him again, soft and affectionate, which kind of makes Prompto want to scream, but he also goes for the bedside drawer to get the lube out, and that – well, that's a step in the right direction.

Maybe Noct's getting impatient, too. As soon as he pops the cap, he squeezes some into his palm and slicks his finger – comes to kneel on the bed beside Prompto and slip it between his legs.

It feels like Prompto's been waiting for an eternity. He whimpers when the tip of Noct's finger brushes against him, but for an endless moment, nothing happens. It only rubs there, soft and teasing, until Prompto shudders, and arches his back, and yanks hard on the cuffs.

"Noct," he gasps, tone pleading – and Noct glances up, all dark eyes and slanted smile, and presses  _in_. It's a long, slow glide, not quite enough; it opens him up, but doesn't really stretch him.

Thank all the gods, Noct seems to be tired of waiting. After a few quick thrusts, he adds a second finger – works them in, carefully, and then curls them.

White-hot pleasure radiates out from the place where they touch, and Prompto groans like he's dying. The pressure against his prostate is firm and unyielding, a massage that's just this side of too much.

Noct eases his fingers out again, just for a second – just long enough for Prompto to catch his breath – and then he slides them back in again, along with a third.

He keeps it up for maybe a minute; Prompto keeps his eyes closed, gasping air into his overheated lungs, completely lost in sensation.

When the fingers slide out again, he can't quite fight down a whimper, but an instant later the bed creaks as Noct gets into position. Prompto opens his eyes to the sight of him: black hair a disheveled halo around his face, cheeks flushed with arousal, eyes intent and wanting.

Noct reaches to take himself in hand – strokes a few times, and shifts, and bites at his lip.

Then he lines the tip up and pushes, and the girth of him, solid and thick and  _good_ , takes Prompto's breath away.

Above his head, Prompto's hands open and close on nothing. The need to reach between his legs and stroke his own cock is overwhelming. He tugs at the cuffs, desperate, but there's not even a hint of give.

When Noct starts to move, it's the best thing he's ever felt.

He's so much thicker than the fingers; he reaches so much  _deeper_. Not every thrust hits his prostate, but every second or third one does, leaving Prompto to arch his back and curl his toes, chasing the sensation.

It's almost no time at all before Prompto's balanced right on the screaming edge again, so close he's sure that even a breath of air against his cock could tip him over.

"Noct," says Prompto. It's a warning. It's a plea.

And Noct stops moving, forehead sheened with sweat and pupils blown wide. He leans up, shaking a little, to kiss Prompto, and it's slow and wet and intoxicating.

When he pulls back, he says, "You've got a choice."

Prompto licks at his lips. "What kind of choice?"

"I can keep going," says Noct, "and you get to come. I'll rub you off just how you like."

Prompto swallows, thickly. Right now, he can't think of any option better than that one. "Or?"

"Or I can keep going," says Noct, "and you can wait. And we can have a little fun tomorrow."

It's not fair. It's not  _fair_. His cock knows damn well what he wants; so do his balls, drawn up tight and aching, entirely more full than is comfortable.

But the rest of him must be a godsdamn idiot, because he's saying, "I want to wait."

The grin Noct gives him in reply, somehow pleased and aroused and proud, all at once, means he can't even regret it.

Noct starts up again, then – hard, and fast, and merciless. It really is how Prompto likes it, when he can't take anymore. He'd be screaming if he tipped over the edge right now, Noct's hand stroking him in time.

But he's made his choice; he doesn't get Noct's hand, and his own are out of the equation, tugging futilely at the soft leather that encloses his wrists.

Noct's getting close; his fingers on Prompto's hips are tight enough that he'll probably feel it tomorrow. 

He thinks about Noct leaving a mark there. He thinks about what it would be like, to carry around a reminder of this moment for a day, or two days, or a week. Maybe Noct can't have proof of their time together written on his skin, but Prompto can

Even the thought of it sends a thrill down his spine, pure distilled heat.

Noct must be thinking the same thing. He leans in, deliberately, and bites down on the juncture between Prompto's neck and shoulder – closes his teeth there and applies  _pressure._ Suction follows, hard and hot, and then, in its wake, the wet lave of a tongue.

It's damn near enough to make Prompto come. The little spark of pain shoots straight to his cock, and he groans, and thrashes, and says something garbled that might be Noct's name. He just needs a little bit more – just one tiny push, and he'll be there.

But above him, Noct goes still at exactly the wrong moment. His teeth bite down even harder as he shakes his way through completion, and Prompto  _writhes_.

When Noct finally pulls out, Prompto blinks up at him, dazed. "You," he says. "That. Oh my  _gods_."

And Noct pulls away – presses a gentle kiss to the spot that still stings from the bite – and says, "Tomorrow's gonna be  _fun_ ," in a way that makes Prompto wonder, with a thrill of anticipation, what he's gotten himself into.

It's not until half an hour later, when Prompto steps out of the shower, still a little wobbly on his legs, that he catches sight of the bruise forming low on his neck in the steamed-up bathroom mirror.

It's already going dark, and there is absolutely no question about what caused it. There was  _definitely_  someone sucking on his neck, and everyone who sets eyes on him is going to know about it.

His fingers seek out the spot and press down, experimentally, and Prompto shudders at the small twinge of pain. He guesses he could use a potion, but honestly – honestly, wants to keep it.

"Dude," he calls down the hall. "I'm gonna have to hide this for like a week!"

And Noct's voice drifts back to him, amused and a little smug. "Guess you better wear a high collar tomorrow," he calls back. "Cause we're gonna be out all day."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 7: Sex Toys Under Clothing :)

"Last chance to back out," says Noct. "It's gonna be a long day."

Doesn't Prompto know it. It's eight o'clock in the morning, and it _already_ feels like it's been a long day.

His cock's been reminding him about yesterday since the minute he woke up. His neck's gone full-on hickey bruise; the high collar on his vest hides it, but only from certain angles. Anyone close enough is going to get a front row seat to what they got up to last night.

But Prompto shifts his weight and says, "Dude. Since when am I a quitter?

The smirk that flits across Noct's face in reply, all heat, totally makes everything worth it.

"Your funeral," says Noct, and he pushes past the turnstile into the train station.

 

* * *

 

The train's a special kind of hell.

It's never fun in rush hour, with the press of bodies packed in tight against him, but today he's packed in against _Noct_ , and his body's dead set on reminding him of that, and absolutely everything is terrible.

It would be better if he'd gotten to come this morning, when Noct did – when they fooled around in bed for half an hour, and Prompto jerked himself off with breathless anticipation until Noct said, "Hey, quit it."

But Prompto stopped, and Noct _didn't_ , and then they'd gotten dressed and to head out the door – only today, getting dressed came with one more step than usual.

Today, Noct slicked his fingers and opened Prompto up nice and slow, till he was panting and squirming. Then he replaced the fingers with a smooth, blunt plug, complete with a flared base and a remote control and the ability to stay maddeningly, perfectly seated, brushing just the edge of his prostate.

After, Noct helped Prompto into his underwear, and pulled them up snug and firm over his dripping erection, and kissed him half senseless.

So now. Now they're on the train, and Prompto's smushed up against Noct, front to front, and every rattle of wheels on the tracks is making him aware of the plug inside him. He's starting to sweat, and Noct knows it, gods damn him.

The train slows to a stop, and Prompto closes his eyes as a woman's voice announces the station on the intercom. When the door opens, one or two people trickle out, and a dozen more pack in. 

He's so close to Noct now that he can feel his chest rising and falling when he breathes. The door slides closed, and Noct shifts – shifts again, and Prompto feels a knee slide between his legs.

Abruptly, his head jerks up, eyes wide. Noct's about an inch away, grinning the most shit-eating grin Prompto thinks he's ever seen. He rocks his leg slightly, back and forth, and the pressure of his thigh is incredible. Prompto hasn't gone all the way soft since they left Noct's place this morning, but he's hard enough to cut diamonds in about 2.5 seconds.

"Noct," he hisses, as quietly as he can.

"What?" says Noct. 

His thigh rocks again, side to side, and Prompto bites his lip, hard. He can't say what he really wants to say; the train car's dead silent, full of salary men in suits and ties, on their way to the office. Someone'll hear.

So he holds tighter to the ceiling strap that's helping him stand, and he closes his eyes. Before two minutes are up, his underwear feel damp and sticky with precome. He's breathing hard through his nose, eyes closed, trying not to give anything away.

The train slows to a stop, and Noct leans in, when the helpful voice announces the next station, to whisper, "You're turning red."

 

* * *

 

Breakfast's at a rundown diner that's closer to Prompto's place than Noct's.

The waitress seats them at a booth in the corner, and Prompto's never been more grateful for anything in his life. He's sure that every single person he passes must've noticed his erection, stupidly obvious in his tight jeans.

He sinks into his seat with a sigh of relief – then straightens up immediately when Noct slides a hand into his pocket and the plug buzzes to life.

Prompto shifts, and bites at his lip. He shifts again. He says, "Dude. C'mon. Give a guy a break."

Noct leans forward to set his elbows on the table and his chin on one palm, casual and blatantly appreciative. "Nah," he says. "Where's the fun in that? 

And he reaches back into his pocket and turns the vibration setting up another notch. Prompto exhales, long and slow. He breathes in again, trying to get it together. When he's sitting down, that not-quite-enough edge of the plug that brushes his prostate applies firmer pressure, and it's taking a hell of a lot of effort not to rock back into it.

He didn't think he was this close already, but between yesterday, and this morning, and the train ride, and the walk to the diner, where every step shifted the plug and provided barely-there friction from his jeans, Prompto's suddenly, achingly aware how close he is to losing it. He's about ten seconds from coming in his pants in the back booth of a restaurant, and Noct's grinning like he just caught the world's biggest fish.

"Noct," Prompto tries again. His hands are clenched into fists, there on the table top.

"Yeah?" says Noct, the picture of innocence.

He's like right there. _Right_ there. He can taste it on the back of his tongue; his toes are starting to curl inside his boots.

Then the waitress shows up and says, "What can I get you boys?" and Noct reaches below the table, and the vibration clicks off.

She looks from Noct to Prompto – does a double take. "You okay, hon? You look like you're running a fever."

Prompto reaches up to his own face. His hand feels blessedly cool against his overheated cheek. With effort, he manages, "I'm – I'm good."

Across from him, Noct's still smiling that smile, like the world's all his, served up on a silver platter.

 

* * *

 

The park bathroom's pretty nice. It's a private room, with a door that goes all the way to the floor and locks. The walls are painted, and there's always soap in the sink, and they do a good job keeping it clean.

Prompto's kind of glad, because right now he's pressed up against the smooth plaster of the wall, panting like he's just run a marathon.

He can't help it. Noct's half buried inside him, thrusts fast and sloppy. He's kissing down the back of Prompto's neck – swore, two blocks out of the diner, that he wasn't going to make it another hour and that they needed somewhere private, right the hell now.

It's really damn hot, that this gets him going so fast. He came maybe two hours ago, but here he is, plowing into Prompto like his life depends on it.

Prompto can feel the lube dripping down his thighs, and the precome dripping from the tip of his cock, and the need to grab himself and jerk off is burning low in him, hot and frantic. He's still holding the plug in his hand – waiting, says Noct, to go back in as soon as they're done.

"Noct," says Prompto, and the rest of what he was going to say slips away, lost when Noct changes the angle and hits exactly the right spot. Prompto groans, and presses his cheek against the wall. He doesn't think he's ever been more turned on in his life, and considering some of the stuff they've gotten up to recently, that's saying a lot.

"Noct," says Prompto again – and Noct freezes up behind him.

He can feel the little jerks of Noct's hips, as he finishes – the rush of sudden warmth inside him. His own cock is so hard it's straining up against his stomach, aching and untouched.

For a second, Noct just leans up against him, a pleasant weight pressed all along his back. Then he pulls out, and Prompto can feel a slow trickle starting to join the lube on his thighs.

"Hey," says Noct. "Gimme that."

And he reaches with insistent fingers and a languid sort of satisfaction for the plug still in Prompto's hand.

 

* * *

 

By all accounts, it's a great day. By all accounts, it's damn near a date.

They take a walk in the park, and they grab lunch at a little cafe. After that, they head down to the arcade, where Noct beats Prompto's score at an FPS for the first time ever.

By the time they step back out onto the street and Noct says, "What do you want to do next?" Prompto's ready to raise the white flag.

He licks at his lip, and he says, "We could go home."

"It's only three in the afternoon," says Noct.

"Yeah," says Prompto. "That's like. A long time already."

"So?" says Noct.

"So," says Prompto, and lowers his voice to a whisper, "I'm kinda dying here, bud."

There's only so much they can do, right out in public – not with Noct's reputation on the line. But he leans in, a little closer than is probably proper, and he whispers, "Wanna make a deal?"

 

* * *

 

Prompto takes the deal.

Five minutes in, he's regretting every choice he's ever made.

Because the deal consists of ducking into a bathroom and sliding on the rubber cock ring Noct claims he just happened to have grabbed on the way out the door this morning. 

It consists of Prompto zipping up his jeans over the most urgent erection he's ever, ever been subjected to. It consists of trying to ignore the all-consuming burn of arousal when he steps outside and the plug buzzes to life inside of him.

Because that's the other part of the deal. They're walking home, all three endless miles. And the plug's staying on the whole way.

Prompto does an okay job of distracting himself for the first ten minutes or so. He chatters aimlessly, and he can't quite figure out to do with his hands. Every single step jostles the plug just a little, and he's so very aware of the way the vibrations aren't quite enough. The pressure from his jeans – the way the fabric traps his cock – feels like some novel form of torture.

"Oh my gods," says Prompto, when they hit the halfway point and Noct slips his hand into his pocket to up the intensity. "Why am I friends with you?"

"Need a break?" says Noct, and the smile that plays around the corners of his mouth is unfairly attractive. "There's a bench over there. You could sit down for a while."

Prompto thinks about the booth in the diner, and how much worse sitting down makes the whole situation. Right now, he's not sure he could stay still. He's not sure he could keep from rocking his hips back, right here in public, just to get that little bit extra. 

Noct fingers the dial again; the vibration is borderline unbearable, sweet and bright and not quite enough. He has a feeling that if it wasn't for the cock ring, he'd have creamed his jeans already.

"Prom?" says Noct, and he's smiling the worst, most knowing smile that's ever crossed anyone's face.

"I'm good," Prompto manages. "Let's just – let's just hurry."

 

* * *

 

Prompto's never been so excited to see a door in his entire life.

His knees go kind of weak when Noct's apartment comes into view, and he keeps shifting his weight from foot to foot, anxious and impatient.

"Now where'd I put my keys?" says Noct, reaching for the pocket he has never, ever kept his keys in, even once, since the day Prompto first met him.

He says it slow, and deliberate, and teasing, and Prompto lunges for him and digs the godsdamn keys out himself.

His hands are shaking as he tries to wrestle the door open, and Noct's laughing because he's an asshole. Prompto staggers inside when the door swings inward, and when Noct keeps standing there, just laughing, Prompto sticks an arm out, yanks him in, and kicks the door closed behind them.

It hasn't even slammed shut before Prompto's taking a hold of Noct's shirt, two desperate fistfuls, and hauling him in for a kiss.

It's not a neat kiss. It's keyed up and frantic, and Prompto whines into it like he's dying. Prompto's back hits the wall, hard, and Noct presses right in after him, giving in to his need for more, faster, _now_. 

Prompto's hands are already scrabbling at the buttons of Noct's pants. His hips are rocking forward, desperate for friction, against the place where Noct's thigh presses against his erection through the denim. The plug is still driving him _crazy_ , vibrations not quite in the right place.

When they break for air, Prompto gasps into the space between them, "Noct. C'mon. _C'mon_."

And Noct fixes him with this _look_. It's a great look. It mixes want and affection and naked hunger, and it goes straight to Prompto's cock. He feels like he's going to burst through the seams any second now, because his pants can't possibly be designed to withstand this much pressure.

But Noct, thank all the gods, finally gets moving. He slides one hand, slow and deliberate, down Prompto's side, over his hip, to palm him through the fabric. Prompto bites his lip and outright shudders, forehead falling forward onto Noct's shoulder, hips working in weak little circles.

Prompto is about five seconds away from committing treason against his future king when Noct has mercy. His fingers close over the zipper, and he draws it down, slow and steady. Then he's sinking to his knees, and Prompto's brain whites out at the feel of careful fingers lifting him free from the confines of his underwear.

"Astrals, Prom," Noct breathes, reverently, and slides his thumb through the frankly obscene amount of precome slicking the tip of Prompto's erection.

"What did you expect?" Prompto manages, reaching down to establish a deathgrip on Noct's shoulder. "I've been going crazy all _day_ , dude."

"Yeah," Noct breathes, a little breathless.

Prompto's about to tell him he doesn't have to sound so damn happy about it, but the words die in his throat when Noct presses a kiss to Prompto's hip, and then his thigh, and then the tip of his cock.

"Noct," he manages, and his voice comes out strangled and needy. His hands reach down, helpless, to thread fingers into Noct's hair.

"I got you," says Noct. "Relax."

It's damn hard to relax, when a warm tongue is licking a stripe up the underside of his cock. It's definitely hard to relax when Noct leans in to suckle like that, at the very tip, like the precome coating his sensitive flesh is the nectar of the gods.

Prompto out and out _groans_ , hips trying to nudge forward to speed things up, but Noct lifts a steady hand to hold him in place.

Noct pulls back just long enough to say, "If you keep being pushy, I'm gonna take even longer," and something about those words sends a bolt of want straight down Prompto's spine, coiling low in his stomach.

He says, "Oh, gods," and when Noct leans back in to suckle at the tip again, he makes a frankly embarrassing noise, somewhere low in his throat.

The vibrator is still on, hidden motion amping him up. His cock is red and desperate, only the very tip granted any stimulation at all. Peering down at Noct, all intent eyes and artlessly disheveled hair, working him with such concentration, is like someone dumped him in a swimming pool full of aphrodisiac.

He feels his cock twitch, and his head falls back against the wall as he pants for breath. If not for that damn ring around him, he'd have come already. He feels keyed up with want, jittery with the need for more. He's probably about three good strokes from coming, ring or no, if Noct would actually give it to him.

"Noct," he whines. "Come on, dude. I can't –"

He sees it in time to brace for the change: Noct's hand slips into his pocket, and suddenly the vibrator is on what must be the highest settling, rolling through him like thunder, so damn good he can taste it on the back of his tongue.

He'd been in the middle of trying to say something, but the words give out, and only a long whine comes instead. He tightens his hold on Noct's hair, clinging for dear life – almost melts into the floor, when Noct finally relents and swallows more of him down.

"Oh, gods," breathes Prompto. "Oh, please. That's – oh, _gods_ , Noct, don't stop."

Noct doesn't stop. It takes all of three quick bobs of his head before Prompto is coming, head tipped back and mouth stretched wide in a silent scream. It seems to go on, and on, and _on_ , rolling waves of pleasure that shake him to the core.

It's not until the aftershocks are done, shivering through him, that Noct turns the vibrator back off and pulls away, looking smug and self-satisfied. 

"You ready for round two?"

Prompto gives a shaky laugh, already in the middle of sliding to the floor. His legs feel like jello, wobbly and weak, and Noct scoots over to make room for him.

"Think I'm gonna need a minute or two," says Prompto, working on just getting his breath back.

Noct gives him a long look, then slides up beside him, so that they're sitting with their backs against the wall in the hallway, decidedly rumpled. After a beat, Prompto rests his head against Noct's shoulder, quiet and content.

It would be perfect, if it wasn't for the vibrator still inside him, not quite pressed up against his prostate, dull pressure nudging him back into awareness. It's not aching want, like before, but there's definitely interest already, a faint stirring of his cock.

"Okay," says Prompto, after they've sat in stillness for a few breaths. "A minute or two's up."

Noct huffs a laugh. "That was fast."

"All day, dude," says Prompto. "All _day_. I want this thing out of me, like, stat."

"Think we can do that," says Noct, and moves to stand – leans down to help Prompto stand, too.

He takes the offered hand – presses his palm to Noct's palm, and lets himself be drawn to his feet.

"Then I want round two _and_ three," says Prompto. 

Noct's outright grinning at him, now, warm and affectionate. "Think we can do that, too," he says.

He doesn't let go of Prompto's hand all the way down the hall to the bedroom.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 8: Free Day!
> 
> Thank you guys all so much for reading. I really appreciate the kudos and comments, and I hope you enjoyed! :)
> 
> Please see the end notes for a Very Helpful Visual Aid. :)a

Prompto wakes up with the dream still scattered through his skull in bits and pieces: Noct's lips, slick with saliva; Noct's eyes, half-lidded with satisfaction; Noct's voice, casual and almost lazy, issuing commands.  
  
He's on the razor's edge already, heart pounding in his throat; he'd been seconds from coming in the dream, and he still is now.  
  
Beside him, tangled in the sheets, Noct is still asleep – but Prompto's bed isn't all that big, so they're right up against each other, the way they have been all night. The way they have been since Noct kissed him senseless and then let his cock go, still hard and dripping, when he said it was time to get some sleep.  
  
Prompto's just as hard now.  
  
Noct hasn't let him touch himself at all for the past four days. It's not his record for holding off, not by a long shot, but there's something about not having the option to explore his own body that really gets in under his skin.  
  
The pressure is unrelenting, and his fingers itch to give himself _something_ to take the edge off. He's been dying for it for what feels like years, and having Noct work him up and let him go the day before – knowing that another few days of nothing at all lay before him like a barren desert – has Prompto throbbing there beneath the covers.  
  
Even the brush of the sheets against his erection feels like too much.  
  
He's reaching for himself before he realizes what he means to do – groaning, long and loud, when his fingers close over his cock.  
  
He bites down on his lip at the first stroke. By the second, he's already rocking into it. Every exhale is a whine; every inhale is harsh and shaky.  
  
After being denied his own touch for so long, every little brush of his fingers feels amazing.  
  
He means to stop. Really he does. He means to give himself a little something, then get up and shower so he can go for his morning run.  
  
But the pleasure builds like a bonfire that's going to burn him alive, and somehow, Prompto can't quite bring himself to pull his hand away.  
  
The first hint that he has an audience is the hand on his wrist, gentle but firm, snatching him back from the edge.  
  
Prompto whines and squirms; his balls feel heavy and full, and his cock twitches there against his stomach, a slick strand of precome slipping down the length of it. It takes a long minute before he can open his eyes, and when he does he sees that Noct is watching him.  
  
In the morning light streaming in through the blinds, Noct's eyes seem very dark, and very intent. They're half-lidded, like they were in the dream – still a little sleepy – but they're watching with a focus that sparks lightning through Prompto's veins.  
  
Suddenly, his mouth is too dry.  
  
This is the first time he hasn't done what Noct's asked, since they've started playing these games. This is the first time he's deliberately disobeyed. He isn't sure what to expect.  
  
But Noct only lifts a hand up, carefully, to stroke the side of his cheek. And he says, "Guess you're not a hands off kind of guy."  
  
Prompto licks at his lips. He says, "It's driving me crazy, dude. Hot, but like. I keep thinking about it, you know? All the time."  
  
"Uh huh," says Noct, and the tone sends a shiver up his spine. He knows that tone. That's the tone that means Noct is about to ask him to do something that will make him lose his mind.  
  
But Noct only leans in to kiss him, soft and searching. His fingers dip down to trace through the precome slicking his stomach. And when he pulls back, he wrinkles his nose and says, "Go take a shower. You're all sticky."

 

* * *

  
  
The package shows up on Prompto's doorstep three days later.  
  
It's an unremarkable brown box, and the sender name is carefully inconspicuous. Prompto knows where it's from immediately.  
  
Only, they haven't ordered anything. Or, well. _He_ hasn't ordered anything.  
  
He takes a picture of the box and texts it to Noct along with the caption: "you send out for something new?"  
  
The reply comes a few minutes later: "don't open it. i'll be over tonight."  
  
So Prompto doesn't open it – but he does _think_ about it. He thinks about it while he's eating lunch, and while he's at work, and in the evening, fidgety and keyed up, waiting for Noct to arrive.  
  
He hasn't come in seven days. Noct's been having him work himself up and then back off more than usual – punishment, Prompto's sure, for that slip of self-control – and the possibilities the box presents leaves him hard and distracted.  
  
It's 8 pm before the knock on the door comes, and when Prompto opens it, Noct ambles in like he owns the place, all idle confidence.  
  
He follows Prompto to his bedroom, where the box is waiting on the bedside table. His smile is a little too self-satisfied when he says, "Go on. You've got to be curious."  
  
Prompto _is_ curious. He's dying to know what's inside.  
  
The toys from the last round have given him the most toe-curling, world-shattering orgasms he can ever remember, and he cannot wait to see what else Noct has in mind.  
  
His fingers shake a little as he peels the tape free. Underneath, a small mountain of packing peanuts wait for him, and Prompto plunges right in, looking for the prize underneath.  
  
He feels the sides of it: another box, smooth and glossy, and he pulls it out with eager hands.  
  
Then he stares.  
  
It's not a new dildo. It's not even a remote egg vibe, like they've talked about a few times.  
  
The clear plastic window in the box gives him a stunning view of sleek, polished metal, smooth and rounded. It looks like a work of art in steel: the tight curve of it, and the deliberately obvious lock, and the key that stands beside it, a tiny promise.  
  
Prompto knows exactly what it is. He's seen a _lot_ of porn.  
  
Suddenly, his erection is about twenty times more urgent. Suddenly, his mouth is dry and his palms are sweaty, and he's so turned on he's actually dizzy with it.  
  
"Noct," says Prompto, a little helplessly.  
  
He looks up at Noct's face, searching for – something. He doesn't know what. Confirmation, maybe. Mercy.  
  
What he finds there instead is the kind of idle authority that goes straight to Prompto's cock. Noct's eyes are hooded, and his expression is intent, and he says, "Well? Put it on."  
  
"Oh, gods," says Prompto, distantly.  
  
But his hands move to obey: ease the packaging open, and slip the folded paper with the instructions out to read.  
  
He's never done this before. He has to read it through twice, to be sure he knows what he's doing.  
  
He licks at his lips, and he says, "I have to. I have to, uh. Be soft."  
  
Right now, he's anything but soft. His cock feels so solid he thinks it could pound nails, and Noct spares a glance downward, to the place where it's tenting his sweatpants obscenely.  
  
For an instant, Prompto can think of only one way to get himself to calm down. He pictures Noct's shapely fingers closing around him, pressure just right, and jerking him off until he comes screaming.  
  
Then Noct says, "You've got ice in the freezer, right?" and he turns for the door.  
  
Prompto does have ice in the freezer. Two minutes later, a little pack of it wrapped in a paper towel is pressing up against his cock, the cold so intense it burns. He's still turned on – still aching for it – but his erection goes down, a bit at a time, until he's completely soft.  
  
When he's finished, Noct rocks back on his heels and sweeps his eyes over Prompto, from head to foot. Then he says, "Cool. That's taken care of."  
  
Prompto swallows. He reaches for the chastity device with shaking hands. He follows the instructions, step by careful step. He slides the bands around his waist, sleek steel padded with skin-soft black silicone, and he works his balls carefully through the ring. Then he eases the latches closed around himself, until he feels everything slot into place.  
  
He turns the key with shaking fingers.  
  
"Nice," says Noct, when he's finished, and reaches immediately out to touch.  
  
It's a strange sensation. He can feel Noct's fingertips brush against his thighs, and bump against his balls, but when they should be over his cock – when he _sees_ them over his cock – he can feel nothing at all.  
  
Heat rushes through him, sudden and urgent, and by the time Noct has him get down on his knees, the effect of the ice cubes is already wearing off. By the time Noct comes down his throat, ten minutes later, he knows he's in trouble.  
  
There's no room to get hard in this thing. His cock's already straining at the confines, arousal trying to force an erection he just has no space for. The pressure is incredible, tight and urgent and so, so good.  
  
He's barely had the device on for half an hour, and he's already half out of his mind with want.  
  
Prompto wants to beg to be let out – to come just once, before Noct steals the pleasure of his own hands away from him.  
  
But gods – gods, if it's already this intense, what's it going to be like in six hours? In a day? In a _week_?  
  
So Noct walks out the door with the key, and Prompto doesn't say a word.

* * *

  
The first day is a special kind of hell.  
  
There are logistics to get used to. He has to sit down, every time he uses the bathroom, and he has to rinse the thing out with the detachable shower head every time he bathes. More than that, though, there's a weight to it he's not used to. The waist band makes him feel confined, in a way he can't quite shake from his awareness. It's comfortable – smooth and well-fitted – but gods, every time Prompto moves, he knows it's _there_.  
  
He's thinking about it when he goes running the next morning. He's thinking about it at work, while he's trying to help customers find camera accessories. He's definitely thinking about it every time Noct texts him, five times in total, to ask how he feels.  
  
He's half sure Noct will come over tonight, and gods, is he ever ready for it.  
  
This thing has got him desperate – got him helpless – and he's never wanted Noct's hands on him more than he does now.  
  
But Noct texts him at 8 with a winky face and the words: "sleep well," and Prompto knows he's in for a long, long night.

 

 

* * *

  
By day four, Prompto's going out of his mind.  
  
He wakes up in the morning with his morning wood trying to shatter steel, and he lies there in bed, twisting in frustration in the sheets.  
  
He doesn't realize what he's doing until his hands are reaching for himself already. He runs his fingers over his abdomen – over his thighs. He slips one between his legs, and he cups his balls gently in his palm, rolling them with great care.  
  
If feels amazing. It's nowhere near enough.  
  
It's been eleven days since the last time he came, and the careful touches are working him up, and up, and he has nowhere to go.  
  
Prompto's other hand seeks out his nipple – thumbs over it, firmly, and then pulls back to circle the nub. He tugs and scrapes and pinches, and every single sensation feels like a line of electricity straight to his cock.  
  
There's a little opening at the tip of the cage, and Prompto rubs against it, trying to get any kind of sensation on his cock, but the resulting prickles of pleasure are only enough to tease.  
  
He's at it for almost an hour before he gives up, panting and drenched in sweat. By the time he's done, the tip of the cage is slick with his precome.  
  
His hands are shaking when he texts Noct: "omg i hate you."  
  
"problems?" Noct shoots back an instant later.  
  
"can u come over tonight?" Prompto sends in reply. "please???"  
  
Noct texts back: "i thought you hated me :p"  
  
But an instant later, he adds: "see you at 7."

* * *

  
At seven o'clock, Prompto is waiting by the front door, shifting his weight from foot to foot, too keyed up to stay still.  
  
The second the knock sounds, he yanks the door open and drags Noct inside.  
  
"Missed you, too," Noct says, pleased and kind of wry, and then he shuts up, because Prompto's clinging onto his shirt and kissing him so hard their teeth clack together.  
  
It's a full minute before they pull apart, breathing like they've run a race; Prompto can feel his cock trying to get hard again already, a steady ache where it presses up against the sides of the cage.  
  
"Bedroom," he gasps out. "Now."  
  
Noct lets himself be pulled along – lets Prompto drag him down on top as they tumble into bed.  
  
Every touch feels like the Infernian has set a fire underneath his skin. Every little brush, every tiny sensation, has him squirming for more.  
  
He can't wait for the key to make an appearance. He can't wait for the moment when the cage will fall away, and this endless, frustrated arousal will give way to an honest-to-gods erection.  
  
But the key doesn't come out while they're making out on top of the covers. It doesn't come out when they lose their clothes. It doesn't even come out when Noct reaches for the bedside drawer, where he knows Prompto keeps the lube.  
  
"Hey, uh," says Prompto, and swallows, watching as Noct pops the lid and squirts some into his hand. "You forgetting something?"  
  
Noct fixes him with this _look_.  
  
It's the sexiest godsdamned look Prompto's ever seen, confident and knowing and utterly full of heat.  
  
"Nah," says Noct. "Don't think I am."  
  
Prompto outright whimpers when the first finger works its way inside him. When the second one slides in with it, he plants his feet and lifts his hips, rocking back into the touch like his life depends on it.  
  
His cock would be hard enough to cut diamonds, if it was free. The precome from the tip of the cage is dripping down his thighs to make a slick wet mess with the lube.  
  
"Noct," says Prompto. "Oh, Astrals. _Please_."  
  
That's when Noct nudges his prostate, a deliberate graze of fingers.  
  
Prompto yelps, and jerks upward; he almost jackknives up off the bed, but Noct just presses his hips back down, and keeps on.  
  
The feeling is intense. It's too damn much. Pleasure washes through him in wave after wave, and Prompto lets his head fall back, struggling just to breathe.  
  
He almost sobs when those fingers pull out, taking the sensation with them – and he squirms, almost delirious with relief, when Noct lines his cock up there, instead.  
  
"You ready?"

"Oh, gods," Prompto groans. "Go, yes, hurry _up_ already."

Then Noct's sinking in, an inch at a time, and Prompto forgets what he's saying altogether, so lost in the delicious stretch of being full that coherent words abandon him.

Noct tries to take it slow. Prompto can tell by the steady, teasing pace of the first couple of thrusts. It's deep, and gentle, and good, and it's nowhere near enough.

"Noct," he hisses, and scrabbles at Noct's hips, trying to get more. "I love you, buddy, but if you don't pound me into the mattress right godsdamned now –"

And maybe Noct's as wound up as he is; Prompto can see the way his arms are already shaking – the way he's biting at his lip on the instrokes, like he's trying to hold back. At those words, though, he groans long and low and needy.

Then he hikes Prompto's legs up over his shoulders, and holds onto the thighs, and gives Prompto exactly what he asked for.

Every thrust shakes the bed under them; it shoves Prompto up toward the headboard, until he has to grab fists full of blankets to keep from sliding. It's rough, and fast and hard. It's exactly what he needs, and Prompto rolls his hips up into every stroke, meeting the frantic pace with one of his own.

He's melting. He's _dying_. His cock is going to explode, trapped in its little steel prison, and the rest of him will go down in flames.

It's torture, to be this turned on and not even be able to get hard. His cock is crammed up against the metal, begging to get free, and then Noct changes the angle just a little, and everything is suddenly so much worse.

Every third thrust hits his prostate, a little glancing rub that works him higher. If he was free, he would have come already. If he could get at his cock, he would have been jerking himself off, fast and desperate, and to hell with orders.

But he's not free, and he can't get at his cock, so he just writhes, and babbles half-formed pleas, and _takes_ it, as deep as Noct can give, until at last Noct stills above him. He goes quiet, all harsh panted breaths, and rocks his hips through the finish, slow and gentle the way he likes to come down.

When he pulls free, Prompto can feel the come leaking out after him.

His balls feel so full they ache, and his cock still hasn't learned it can't get hard, and Prompto's gasping for breath, trying to manage the whirlwind of sensations rushing through his own body.

Noct's lying down next to him – slipping an arm around him, oddly careful. He presses his head to Prompto's chest, and his hair feels soft and ticklish, there against the skin.

There's silence for a minute or two. Prompto spends it wondering what he did to make the Astrals hate him, because he thinks he knows how the rest of this day is going to go, and getting out of the belt doesn't seem to be in his immediate future.

He thinks, a little dizzily, that this is either the best day of his life, or the worst.

There's nothing he can think of that will top this: lying beside Noct, who's spent and sated, while every nerve in Prompto's body is still screaming for release. After another minute, his arm comes up, too – fingers settling shakily on Noct's hair to card through the strands of it, soft on the bottom, gel-sticky on the top.

For a while, they just breathe. Gradually – so very gradually – Prompto's body winds itself down from its not-quite-orgasmic high, and the ache between his legs becomes less overwhelming.

Then, at long last, Noct breaks the silence. "Hey," he says. "Did you mean that?"

Prompto blinks. He's been a little preoccupied with just feeling – has to rewind his mind back through the last ten minutes, skipping through the garbled pleas that barely managed to check in with his brain on the way out of his mouth.

There's nothing, he thinks. Nothing that would make Noct sound like that, soft and a little hesitant.

His mind scrolls back further, seeking answers – trips over, "I love you, buddy."

Oh.

Prompto feels his face start to get hot. He stares up at the ceiling, and wonders why the hell his traitor mouth decided to let state secrets slip while the rest of him was otherwise occupied. He's been so good about not saying it. He knows damn well that Noct'll have to marry someone important someday – that whatever this is, whatever _they_ are, it can't last.

But he did mean it, and now that it's out, well – it'd be kind of a dick move to lie about it. So Prompto swallows down the protest that tries to rise to his lips. He trains his eyes on the crack on the ceiling above his bed, and he says, steady as he can manage, "And what if I did?"

There's silence for a beat.

Then Noct says, "I dunno. I just thought." He hesitates again, and Prompto suddenly wants to see his face – scoots sideways just in time to catch the little crease between Noct's brows, the one that always shows up when he's worrying about something. Noct flounders there for an endless moment. Then finally, he comes out with: "Me, too."

Prompto pauses.

Those simple words shift in his head and turn over, and understanding washes over him like the sunrise, all golden warmth and the promise of something new. He can feel the grin take over his face, so wide and bright it hurts the corners of his mouth. His chest is doing something funny, and it's not entirely comfortable, and he doesn't _care_.

"Well," says Prompto. "Good thing I meant it."

Noct glances up at him then, a soft look under dark lashes. The crease between his brows softens, and his lips quirk up into something stupidly fond.

When he presses his hand against Prompto's, palm to palm, and threads their fingers together, Prompto shivers at the simple intimacy of the act. Noct's thumb traces the knuckles; he tightens his hold, a gentle squeeze.

At last he says, "You doing okay?"

Prompto huffs a laugh. "Guess that means the key's not gonna make a showing."

"I mean," says Noct. "It could. But gods, Prom. You should see yourself."

He unlaces his fingers from Prompto's, then – trails them down, almost idly, to follow the line from his navel to the place where the cage still covers him.

Prompto shudders and leans into the touch.

"You wanna do two more days?" says Noct. "I'll have Specs move my meetings. We can get started bright and early, day three.

In its cage, Prompto's cock gives a little twitch. "What, the whole day?"

"The whole day," Noct promises.

Prompto thinks it over: a long, lazy morning lying in bed; a late lunch, half-dressed at the kitchen table; stumbling into the shower together, laughing; falling asleep in rumpled sheets when they're finally done. And through it all, wandering hands, and razor-sharp pleasure, and that look in Noct's eyes, the one that makes something shift and turn over in Prompto's chest.

"Bring it on, dude," says Prompto. "Two more days is nothing."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This](https://www.dhresource.com/0x0s/f2-albu-g4-M01-72-BB-rBVaEFeA6xWAIyqZAACkd6asqTQ042.jpg/hot-full-male-chastity-belt-device-stainless.jpg) is the chastity belt Prompto was wearing, or something very similar.


End file.
